Weather Control

Voodoo s**t.

staying the night

up high

in rainclouds

& I feel safe now

when I look down

the wide world

is so small.

we are all

tiny specimen

divinely dissected

subdivided into

lively sections

by wants by fires

by greed by needs

& secret desires;

one nation

under god’s feet

tired slaves perspire

unnecessarily

for possession

& obsess over  

what they each acquire.

it is you, it is I,

and we are

frighteningly alike.

my attention’s quite untidy

all the time

my mind gets redirected

it walks like hell

& talks like heaven.

I am not well

I never have been.

but this hex is a blessing,

it’s too damn precious.

we are spilling

into the ocean

over the edges.

The Land is dead and

has been, days now.

I find it kinda pleasant &  

I wonder if

they’ll ever

get around to

disinfecting the nest

of decaying flesh,

before it infests the rest,

y’know, the ones that got left.

rot is a pox

spread by proxy

& is not bonded

by neither

lock nor key; that’s like,

‘f**k what you got

f**k what you be

f**k what you thought

what you think

what you see.’

f**k you,

f**k me,

f**k everyone,

f**k everything.

it’s lovely, it’s lovely.

I even think it’s kinda funny,

I laugh at nothing.

Oh, the irony.   

Author's Note

Devil Music.

Reviews

[John Fitzgerald]

By the power of wanton lust, this is awesome! Love the immediacy of its impact, the raw expression unenviable red and throbbing, it's animalistic sense of life and the directives not divined. You are a fantastic poetess :) X