Radiation Will Be The Judge To Which You Will Testify

slam poetry

The Taste of Rage

I awake, reality institutes deceptive assault
daring me to stoke the flames,
staring at me begging for coal
daring me to fuel the fire

Reality spit at my face,
haphazard, decrepit strategy
as I tried to ignore the putrid stench

The world awoke, raining frozen hydrogen from above
enclosing the sun in cumulonimbus gloves,
foolish trick masquerading as a dove

Duality lit totality ablaze
Forever gazing through absent haze
Pleasure hazing monastic graves

Spastic legs, I walk, misconstrued
plastic dregs talk, confused
harassing pegs, they overlooked bombs’ fuse

Today, silence resounding calms
no vibrations from violent pounding palms
tomorrow more journey for floundering prawn


Someone said I forgot how to communicate
as I sit ruminating past folly,
So much was within my grasp,
until a sullen iceberg struck my bow
forcing repudiation

Filthy masses of parasitical depravity
claw at walls and wail at countertops
rain and munitions fall from gravity
teasing what life remains, below
they bellow, smash to dust all fellows,
unlucky enough to reap their crops

Humanity becomes dandruff,
flaking off, splintering at every crevice,
forgetting its lessons, buried in an abyss of genetic material
masterful artisians, suffering lesions while they
glisten under the Sun God’s shine
choosing to shirk its mystical fervor
trading wisdom for pistols,
remaining knaves, slaves, dwelling in caves
failing to reach the kingdom,
bodies slain, I still can’t refrain, escape pain,
a gaped-brain
lacking omniprescence
freight trains,
stacking the next minority sect, into a new residence

Yellow Ribbons support our troops, and other bloodlust fairy tales

It takes mountains of courage to forgive murder
more to remain silent facing absolute mendacity, continuous, steady
prostitutes in cash suits throwing 6 bills at your face stealing
6500 taken before you even get your paycheck
only skins won from corpses
too much blood-lust to admit mistaken identities
though that was always known in
secret rooms, secret tombs
phosphor rain, no regret for her womb
still haven’t learned enlightened paths
money doesn’t reside there, where
love is hate’s sworn enemy, where
crystals shatter like bones of weakened
servants while power is plentiful,
but whores that glower demand spigots shut, against thrusts of destitutions last crutch, holding guns they rushed because its legal here, bow when posters parade regal fear,
medieval, cave dwelling, socially-devolved gears
dust, coughing, force fed at troughs, sacrificial offerings
Gods Lambs, nearly rendered incapable
my hands torn, resisting mandatory agitprop
splattered across screens as plasma  porn
hazard, bouts, distraught, politically burned like quiches
biting hands of masters for tugging at leashes
pipelines are its veins, black plasma  is treasure
but brown did not make the cut
slay the mutts,  ones who cower
singed fringes on eyebrows
as crowds scream “let them die now”
orgiastic hatred for gold-stine , bow
benign sows,
standing at a stone face, cry proud
invisible to my lines, no matter if they arrive loud
lies still cloud horizons
agitation fog of war
smog, gore
how much longer can we rob the poor?

Deaf to Natural Frequencies

How much squalor will it take
Hours burning like paper, no
escape mode prevails- reminiscing over meaningless details,
selling your soul for the garbage of retail
[HINT](In two months, those shoes you bought cost 50% less)
 Ouch, singing the praises of resale, it hurts
like feeble morals in church,
Viewing hexagonal visions, don’t flex toward me, when you know
in the trenches you collapse like plastic benches,
horror tension, back burns,
the slack you allowed in iraq spurns,
tacit herds, while the words still burn your mouth,
cant speak,
death makes all nauseous,
frost on skin, can’t wipe away your failures,
submissions to darker sides
a mission don’t harp on it,
 find a tarp to sleep under, because thunder follows rain,
no way to abstain, pause…….your blunders are hollow pain

Falling for Fervor A.K.A gun shot 2

Where did your eyeballs run off to?
Why is your tongue in twists, fooled and foiled trists
trying to force your way into bliss
Where did your sense of honor choose to die?
No longer allowing your lying mouth to belie,
the facts that people dig for, crowbar, scratch and pry
Go over yonder, where the elephant meets the leapord,
denounces him with jealous intention,
all because you promised to be their shepard
Now they are lost in the valley of mortals,
searching for that non-existant, irrelevant portal,
a futile attempt to restore the lost order,
now the borders are lost, you cant afford your cross,
no longer allure to your subservient bosses,
crying over losses, but the tears now dry up,
still wishing you possessed wings,
and the ability to fly up

A Gun Shot to the Head

Such is the fate of innocence and idolatry
When confronted with the amalgam of half-truths,
that float to you in the night,
glowing like fireflies, trapped inside glass tubes,
blinding you to what lies behind the glass,
Why don’t your eyes perceive,
instead of allowing punditry to paint your picture for you
what is wrong with your logic
has it failed?
has the engine inside the ministry of truth broken down?
do you choose to tie your shoes in the morning?
does your skin bruise, while you watch death, dead, and the mourning?
do you yield at railroad crossings,
sun-flavored warning lights, the only remaining signal,
attempting to warn you, that your fate is to become a carbon- buttermilk pancake with type-o  platelette syrup
Who ruined your membranes, and sabotaged your neurons,
so that they may fail in times of need,
why do the  soul-diseased dine in greed, 
plates of dead skin, making yours pallor with pain
please open your heart, rip the stitches fighting your eyelids out from beneath subcuteanous layers,
but be careful,
nothing is more volatile, than a loaded gun, hollow tip in the chamber,
or knowing your life is a constructed farce,
lamenting, led astray into the burning fields and fences