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,
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?
drink tequila & play poker with the ghost of Doc Holliday
eat acid in a boneyard and demand answers from the Jesus stature
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."
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 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,
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
so i can get at it
when i'm alone
and chew on the soft sun.
© Malachus Monk