the sound of silence of the lambs

The time for bleeting out is gone and

off you go, sweet veal,

to make someone a nice, fine meal.

Seeping through the cracks in homes and

pulsing over waves of air,

the signal has reached crescendo.

Who have you been told you are?

Borg Army Brat?

What is it that we think we are?

Don’t reach out for the handle bars; they’ve melted

clean away.

And the peddles are now spinning free and bruising up your shins;

your feet can’t reach the ground, be warned:

a fall off of the bike is no longer a trip to pavement

but an in tangle with the shadow

of our collective dive.

Now watch some tits and asses,

filled up with air balloons,

beneath corrected face and teeth,

while piercing tongues ensue.

What seemed to be so good and true is gone and now you can

compete

for a hot ticket to a church

built all on sand –

for the soul purpose of extracting

good intentions.

Levi proclaims today-

while we are discussing plagiarism – since every model in our world

is now only corrupt, why shouldn’t we lie and cheat our way to a good grade,

whus up?

The class together rolls their eyes –

on cue they shout, off topic – to the boy so out of line

his mind off in the tropics.

Stoned boy in leather and in chains,

Question me and ask me why, why does nothing make sense?

And so we sit at 8 o’clock and call the spade a spade.

Why are you taking classes?

Why the roll call life?

For a degree – for what?

For this:

a moment here where nothing remains and nothing has come in stead –

we’re really at a new beginning – and

its a damn good place to be.

Let’s  float here in this watery world

and learn that why we’re here

has nothing to do with the world gone way,

and everything to do with the next.

We are tasked with the big Create Again

only that which does make sense,

and this time

from our hearts,  amen.

No mistake,

I am nothing

to hold on to and

I do not want to talk of trouble.

Only this:

What’s next?

So what if you’ve had problems waking to an alarm?

So what if you have lost out on a deal gone horribly wrong?

Broken open

hand in hand,

no past, no story and no fame –

without a golden key, no king, no master can

we claim.

i am no different than you.

no different.

no diff.

no da.

da da.

Drink up from your own cup.

And do not wipe the mustache  from your face.

Tags: Impermanence, paradox, Poetry, Shadow