the end of everything

Love is inorganic

is testosterone frozen,

flesh is light caught

in stasis, artificial

til the last blown fuse&Mac247;

50 amps, choleric resistance,

the vitriol of 5 years of silence,

dead trumpets hang from the ceiling tiles,

coke blowjobs & stolen surfacetoair missiles

the world will end in darkness,

will drown in black sunshine,

in a fusion of bloodwater & electrolysis,

mindlessly gutted,


the distant howl of a dying starlet

or the vicious stare of a dead whore

 World ends in a 5day marathon of fucking,

but no one comes,

an orgasm could've saved the earth,

depends on that longing, open stare of blistered desire--you want her, boy, so what do you do?

"Me? myself?


drink tequila & play poker with the ghost of Doc Holliday

eat acid in a boneyard and demand answers from the Jesus stature

learn braille,

eat lightbulbs, play my harmonica to a desolate, angelic, narcoleptic, jittering, yowling, Marxist, disillusioned, underrated, unrenounced, still-born, trollop-begotten skinless panther-god, worshipped by the fever-struck children I ran from in a dream last night."


see this:

she looks like Sofia Coppola

and sings like Aretha Franklin.

Leonard Cohen, Rumi, Lord Byron, Don Juan, Casanova, and even the Marquis De Sade have ALL been her love-slaves, and still shiver at her kitchen door and knock their heads into the sidewalk when she walks by&Mac247;

she's new light from an ancient star,

a jaguar's yowl echoed across eternity,

a glorious, sneering pillar of light rearing to the sky

 but that's not true, right?

 she's an indifferent raven on a powerline,

maybe a luckless, poor-child entity,

a long-lost epic scrawled in sandstone, wiped clean,

as yet unwritten

she's not real.

she's a pillar of salt,

a universal complaint,

an ageless rage,

a faithless priest,

the caustic acrostic of a

bitterly ingenious thighobsessed coward's howl.

she probably doesn't even exist

residual afterimage of mescal-MDMA derivative

(yage, ayahuasca, yopo, psilocybin, lysergic acid diethylimide, amazing grace, MDMA, whiskey foam, coca, crystal meth, the lovelorn hybrid of a battered ewe & a hot, molten star.)

she's not true

she don't know you

and she don't owe you,

and has absolutely nothing to give you.

so whaddya ask of a goddess's daughter?

of a diamondstar, otherdimension rodeoqueen?

a holy soul pariah,

a dirge that ain't sad, really

just another plastic-fantastic lover's wet dream.

"What do you want?" nothing. i want nothing. i want nothing. i want

When music is banned:

we've got songs littering the gutters

i have the fading light wrapped in tin foil

i chew pieces of the sun when i'm alone

i'm never too scared

but He gets scared enough for all of us out here,

who stand in the rain with steely nails all a-gleam

we don't feel

we don't ache

or want

or need

or kneel

or stand with our hands linked and heads bowed

we shred dreams and digest suffering

we're the last targets for pain

we deny the existence of karma

but absorb the bad shit anyway

we sneeze and chunks of free energy emerge

and shatter and splinter the sounds we lost

the alien notes and muted riffs and broken harmonicas

the music danced nude in the black flames,

flying off

in any direction

circling like a paradox

in a delusional holding pattern

feeding off the precise cuts in the news footage

and requiems and philosophies

that don't exist

I catch some and put it away

somewhere nice and nice and nice

and safe

so i can get at it

when i'm alone

and chew on the soft sun.

© Malachus Monk