Archaeology and Space Science Are Both Neat

 

This is... Archaeology and Space Science Are Both Neat

End. Over. Gone.

But the finish will be exciting.

The times might be interesting.

But the finish will be exciting.

The times might be changing.

But the finish will be exciting.

The tick tock of unwinding.

A complication seizing up.

But the finish will be exciting.

You want it to go forever.

Hang hindsight on the wall.

You want it to live never.

Then it'll never die.

Taxidermy every moment. Place them on the mantle.

Posed and dressed as musketeers.

Raise the flag on a ship in a bottle.

Put a portrait in a frame and consider it a mirror.

You want it to last forever.

Not be last of all.

But the finish will be exciting.

Every Empire has to fall.

Weather are Gods

 

This is... Weather are Gods

The sun hounds down

From eggshell blue sky

Sizzles and fizzes off wooden fences.

The air is lit cigarette, alcohol, chocolate.

And I'm walking, minding my own business.

In this uncanny valley.

Finding my way

from the blood boys and husk fathers.

A fire line smile across cremation clouds.

Shattered sugar glass rain splinters down.

Clatters like a typewriter.

The weather like syrup, coating the surface.

And I'm walking, minding my own business.

In this forced perspective

To find a place away

where there are no stars of animal eyes and black hole jaws.

Lips blew charred match ends of days.

Run a flick comb through the slick night hair.

They built a romance gate lodge.

It's not original.

To find a place to get away.

And I'm walking, minding my own business.

In this surreal estate.

To find a way away.

Rejection of Word

 

This is... Rejection of Word

I need to express views

And only a primal scream will do.

Crack the iron lung with a monstrous breath.

Make you feel what I feel.

I exist in persistent heaven and perpetual hell.

The snake might be the lowest.

But a snake can rattle like a poet.

Obsession, addiction, consumption, confession.

Never reaching satisfaction.

And what!

If I create

A  correction of God's mistake.

And what?

So the creature has to suffer.

As warning to all others.

A curse in chorus:

"Here's what you get when you loose

God's anchor from the rules"

God is Captain and man, sailor

On the Ship of Fools.

No souls are swept overboard.

God won't toss a lifebuoy out into the shoals.

For man-made creatures like me.

As I go under, 

I'll be a thing of wonder.

Take myself to the grave.

Against testing animal fighting.

 

This is... Against testing animal fighting.

Nothing. Nothing.

No thing. No thing. No thing.

Not a thing.

Empty. Empty.

Empty me.

I'm slipping. Detaching. Moving to Heaven or Hell.

Ethereal. No, no:

Ephemeral.

I might be a different person.

From the one who I let imagine

I might be in a different place.

From where my body has been laying.

Below honeysuckle and bees.

Sugar cubes stirred into my cup of tea.

Effect from cause.

Against testing animal fighting.

Placebo cube pill stirred into my cup of tea.

As long as we're taking something

We can be artificial.

Guilt is the only thing left for certain.

Feels like the only thing left that's real.

Only thing that's not an equation.

That's the gospel of travelling Preacher Johnny Fishbone.

I heard on the telephone he's setting up his folding church

Just out of town under beams of broadcast static.

I want to believe. Just not believe in that much.

I heard on the commercial he's handing out tickets to the Rapture.

Offering those who go a legacy software patch.

I heard on the grapevine he's wearing a pastel blue suit

With a golden tie and boots.

I heard on the Ouija board.

About what he's feeding his congregation.

He's talking in computer beeps and bops.

He regards them as data that's corrupt and lost.

Accept the Jesus cookies.

We are damned as predator and blessed as prey.

Servants of God and Kings of home.

Let me put a counterpoint like a driven pickaxe into bone.

Your existence is proof enough for me of no Divinity.

On the thatch ground.

Wildflower of the scrub.

Far from indoctrinations hanging on the wire.

I was led to the reflecting pool.

Led to the colour, led to the prose.

No telling how deep it goes.

I was shown Pan. Not for the prospecting of gold.

But to discover shimmering desire, between the gleaming stones.

To find something to behold.

Stings bite differently once you are submerged.

Bodies strain differently once you put your head under.

Meanings falter differently once you dissolve them.

Then no one taught me how to swim.

Compelled and repelled at falling in

The cubed water disturbed by a tail and fin.

Birdsong echoing like church bells in a thundering sky, above.

Someone take me in.

It's not a baptism.

It's a splash of shock of the sublime.

Your existence is proof enough of no Divinity.

Neither of yours nor of mine.

I can show you the horror of mankind:

God visits whether we are present or not:

We are only witnesses of time.

A eyeball sun rolling, shade in lashes, iris alien botanica flowering,

That's what I'm offering.