Circuit

And she sways to the beat, the one she knew had again assumed control, like mangrove trees in the heat, like Toth laughing at cancer, like thunder clapping its noisy paws at the moon, like rain drops against the window, slowly, slowly but to dissipate, like a purple mark on a fragile arm, like a bitter word flying through the mouth of a careless man.

Spiritual Armageddon

Hark, now, the beast is marching on to Israel
and there's a star in the east burning my eyes,
wormwood falling, falling for this rotten mercy
like a downward spiral playing a mourning orchestra for something without ears.
And Jesus Christ is on his knees
and the beast laughs because no one believes in anything anymore but their own apathy.

I drank to escape it's morbid disarray,
to find the best tasting wine,
but half of it was too diluted, losing its reassuring answer,
and the other half would make me so drunk on answers I'd be lost in ignorant bliss.

But I don't want it... No... I just want to listen to my phantom orchestra.

Ether Lost

Air pierces fire pierces my will to escape your holding cell of sagging dirt; I'll consume you, I'll crack the plates and open hell on earth, will bathe in poetry, and scrape the ocean with the sky and merge the stars with no alibi but loneliness piercing all the while my winding path, elements will leave no trace but one, will turn her face, because I have no nature left to give.