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Pseudepigrapha (Canonical Form of Living)

Comfortable distraction of an internal conflict
Self destruction’s familiarity
Disenchanted zodiac symbols
Hiding under the soul’s equator
Awakening hunger
Break fast on icicles and barley wine

Meet her at the gift shop on a cross road near the vernal equinox
She is not your mother, but you can hate her just the same
Self chosen wicked soul
Smelling smoky old New Orleans bar
Voice of Jazz, Whiskey and Brass poetry
Broken wooden floors
Broken wooden bones
Broken wooden hearts
Righteous requiem of your childhood
There is no place like home

Try not to worship lives lasting more than 32 years
Modern love justifies denial
Despondent first omen
Counting rancid tar stained cigarette butt
Arranged in the looking glass of heaven
Each lies in the shape of an archer
Writing love note with the ashes
Your bumblebee’s last smile

Wake up late tomorrow morning
Broken spirits start anew
Steal advice from failures
Success defines the face of loss
Standing tall, hero to heir-less Kings
Proud race horse fouled by shattered hoof
Speeding downhill in this, our side car
Drowsed by crashing sounds and ticking time piece
Clock works of tiny music
Living rhythmic catastrophe
Accomplishment is well defined in defeat

Misunderstood aggressive compulsions
Ignore coming change
Get Old, Buy Youth
Get a Home, Buy some Debt
Get a Job, Buy a new heart
Sacred Mojo’s Boy Priest
My, how old men smile

Success

Reverence wasted on Holy Ghost and televised religion
Nasty tricks play out under dim candle lights
Paid penitence for my Original Sin
Whispering apology for living to the Omniscient
Bruised knees and cold bathroom floors
Our Lord points me back to the exit
Squinting through rusted peep holes
It is all relative to the side of the window which you stand
With that one candle’s prayer
Defined, we must risk the cold

Mother’s mop kitchen floors with runny ink love notes and father’s lost hair
Ruined scripture under the water lines
Gypsy advice
Misread fortune carved on a metal key
Forced superstitions through simple reasoning
Daily life’s monastic conformity
Unchartered water held by the cartographer’s pen
This view is blocked by highway construction and tall Italian lemon trees
Still the wind whisper’s lust

Popularity defines the occult
Mistrusted personal ownership
Misdirected destiny born of human naivety
Blue printing the new city of Heaven
Piety redefined

Our prophet pulls strings to hear a song bird’s guitar
Escaping that dream’s open window
Sweat drips against his sill
Catching dirty rivers flowing through cracked paint
Rusty nails and old chipped wood
Suffering admonishment
His father promised him a throne
Embarrassed, still he is your biggest fan

She lays naked on cold rock
Counting stars and ignoring night sounds
Of Demons sneaking through open gates
Her lover, guided by glaring light from a murder’s thick blade
Quiet, he carved symbol in a tree’s flesh
Lips tracing wounds across her back
Night’s sky covered in milky moon
This dirty craft

This Devil dreams in whispered secrets
Stepping stones through lazy snakes constellations
Careful not to wake sleeping larks song
If not so crafty, he stops at the gate to comfort the broken man
Still suffering lost children and angelic duty
Resist asking of his learned perfection
And haunting of his dead son
Spare a smile to wary guardsmen
Balanced on that sacred swords vigilance

Defended truth becomes sacred
Echoing regret, human defiance
Stolen paradise
Grounds littered with desires
Unquenchable lust astride
Now behind a scorned God’s locked gate
Of all that perfection
Still no dragonflies live in that Eden

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Pseudepigrapha (Canonical Form of Living) by 


We know nothing of ourselves, only the guilt and loathing most were weighted with at birth. Man is such a magnificent beast.

Tags

life, materialism, media, religion

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