Jesus jam (Satan’s saliva)

That Octopus, that alligator.
On heaven’s brow, god’s travelator.
Tipping the scales, licking honey.
Bring all of us such milk and money.
Sipping on sweet lemonade.
Cherry wine and razor blades.
Who’s in danger?
Who’s in hell?
Count those cell phones with tortoise shells.
This computer says we’re many things.
In need of love, and diamond rings.
Error. Escape, with all the wrong friends.
Beatnik bars and downward trends.
Smile if you think we’re happy.
Laugh if you think it’s trending.
Gatorade, work alarms. Good times never ending.
Pack your life now in a suitcase.
Sadness in sardonic typeface.
Wash away those bruises with beer.
Turpentine and celebrity gear.
A neon fog to dull the senses.
Lowered expectations and all defenses.

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Building bridges

The devils in the details, and the details try to lead.
But we are not for turning, and we are not for folding.
Gather the threads of hate and weave a patchwork of love.
From all the crazy chaos of our minds.
The rambling mess of the world defined.
Build the bridge, each stone in time.
Though the devils are easy targets, with a burning fire and arrogance.
We are the same behind our eyes.
We all bleed the same.
There’s no money on the other side but there’s sharks underneath.
So we stable with my brother, each sister now complete.
Building, fighting and freewheeling in our shared world.
A planet like a ball of string, kicked by the kitten of god.
Who isn’t inclined anymore to fix it!
In this together. Holding on.
Building bridges with those I hate, to get to a better place.

Polishing elbow grease

Resilient and totalled. The more tragic the better.
Slipping into the fog of the everyday.
Scratching out words on my chest that read ‘subservient’.
Feeling the need to speak a little less often?
Scrolling and sighing, the faceless ghosts who rush through me.
Unsure of which direction.
My own uncertainty.
Yet asking assistance means I’m incapable?
You expect me to get up like them, sit down and in line colour.
To work for money I do not need. What types of people would I be dealing with anyway?
Like me? My tribe? I wonder and I think not.
If I were less filled with fire. Dripping in normalcy.
Cut off from my soul and dead from the waist down.
Then I would be joining them.