take me to the slaughterhouse...

we are the superintendants of reality
but our careers are teetering on a fine line of posession
between protectors of the mind
and truant members of society and it’s lost identity
how ever will we hold on?
even when we are within the confines of rented space
and in the intentional presence of crucial individuals
we can lose safety with the constriction of paper thin walls
creeping like attic dwellers or high seas stow-aways
extra baggage and vibration to add to an already overwhelming situation
you are asking rather a lot of the infrastructure
in order to get the mountain top view of a river and it’s border split currents
pushing ice all up and down, peacfuly resting the bones of bootlegers
and hopefully somewhere in the pressures of the river
perhaps there is a jug of burboun sitting there unharmed
yet preserved with no light
potent everlasting prohibition
you still can’t have this liqour
it’s buried for the candid diver
bring it home and serve it to your fellow aquabats

Paratrooper trumpeteer’s blow their sombor farewell
drummer’s are solid and rudamentary.
Matching the speed of the current
are synchronized swimmers and divers
the shinning of their faces reflects off the waves
cascading prisms of the visible spectrum.
The optic nerves of the sailors are all blushing
yet, no damage done to the senses in any way
just a jubilant admiration for the reality our brains create.

using circles as currency for dolls eyes
plugging up your pipes with paper and poison
hallowed prospects at best and still nothing
has been turned into tomorrow, today…nope, nothin’
to do so one must nag the one who’s hand is feeding my debt ceiling

jacket weather on it’s horizon in Leland
even so for my tri-county area
hopeful burroughs upon the moon after next
been there this time of year last year
turns out it’s halfway decent with the leaves intact

once a firestorm ran right through our garden
and it’s exhaust deposited like coins to your kiosk
and grants to your charity finally comes through
withdrawn from your calling from erosion and wind
battered is the new way, it says, persuasion while thumbing