From Both Ends

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(Robert Rauschenberg, Untitled)

 

A mercenary

tracks her murder

to a controlled burn

tourniquet

strangling

men with AR’s

guarding

a pathological sense

of entitlement.

 

She has taken on the characteristics

of the war.

 

She hunts a corrupt, criminal

underground,

an invisible

crime scene.

 

She wears the

collateral black

violence

too few have endured.

 

She ranges a more

encrypted description

of the suspects.

 

A dying man

drones psalms

from the old country.

 

Another is waiting.

To Live

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Hieronymus Bosch

I will meet you

somewhere between the

theta waves

and this wounded refusal

to die.

 

But you have to be there,

truly be there

amidst the graves

and the killing laughter which

revels in your

every death.

 

The thefts,

and the burns

broadcast

a sudden madness,

your premeditated

deterioration.

 

Only when I washed up

on these brinks,

did I choke

on the tombs

of those killers.

 

The next storm

has already been planned.

 

I will be here

if you need me

with nothing left

to be taken.

 

OCD

 

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Be warned,

there is something

in the woods

unheard of,

guns loaded,

unborn.

 

Ritualistic death

among the

Ayahuasca.

 

I went there

to save you

from burning

and was

buried alive.

 

 

Growth

Linda Vachon. Tete De Caboche

Linda Vachon. Tete De Caboche

Whatever was left of me/ after the dream/ the night watch prowled/ wolves/ looting uninvited orgasms/ I am still/ one of the hunted

How could those/ so rank with sin/ with misery/ and hopelessness/ claim sainthood/ proffer a living, breathing/ judgement day/ guarding/ no/ this/ this was never about protection/ The disappearances/ crimes against humanity/ unspeakable/ new and improved/ methods of torture/ silenced poets and artists/ sickened the healers/ corrupted altruists and heroes/

The impossible became real/ we didn’t know where it was coming from/ sudden shooting pains/ dull aches/ we were being burned alive/ They called us schizophrenics/ they were stealing our country from us/ we had to find a way/ to defend ourselves/ we had to fight/ an invisible enemy/

These were acts of war/ unauthorized invasions/ turning us against ourselves/ against each other/ the final stop/ complete control/ enslavement/ they had such/ as sense of entitlement/ no boundaries/ ownership/ burning red/ they were stealing our country/ from us/ a burning red flat line/ our children would have to battle/ if we couldn’t overcome/ an enemy/ we could not yet locate/

It was never paranoia/ rather/ it was that we were/ fully aware/ of the capability of evil/

In the absence of choice/ lies enslavement/ violation/ both internal and external/ In the absence of choice/ there is a ravine/ of lost souls/ stolen selves/ and whatever is left/ on the other side/ of this makeshift reality/ is paraded through the streets/ what was once brilliance/ now a laughingstock/ by a torrid, mindless mob/ of witch hunters/ destroyers of dreams/ and potential/

All which was once held sacred/ now disposable/ to a frothing/ insatiable/ void/ of broken killers/

They are everywhere/ the Devil’s Herd/ the bringers of death/ holding/ what Aristotle named/ ‘The Immovable Movers’/ hostage in their own lives/ and make no mistake/ they will break you/ if it is the last thing/ they ever do/

For now/ all we have is our humanity/ that part of us/ that cannot ever be broken/ residing somewhere between/ freedom and struggle/ each/ our own compass/ metaphysical/ free to choose/ our own transcendence/ a destination

 

 

A Proper Burial

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Thomortiz.com

 

It was told that/ those who disappeared in Mazatlán/ made their way across/ the Sierra Madres/ in the Mexico Basin/ where their pirate souls were restored/ by the salty sea/ of the Gulf/

Where food/ and basic human decency were scarce/ violent men/ and beautiful, broken women/ got rich off the dark weaknesses/ of upstanding citizens and tourists/ on the islands/From Puerto Rico to St. Croix/ Dominica to Barbados/ archangels chased the excesses/ of the West Indies/ to the confluence of the Caribbean Sea/ and the Atlantic/

Shipwrecks could be seen/ from tattered motels/ in Fort de France/ The authorities were a part of/ if not altogether responsible/ for the corruption/ as long as they were compensated/ in ways/ that were difficult to prove/ It was whispered/ that muffled screaming could be heard/ from the women/ whimpering all throughout/ the halls/ Most were stolen from their homelands/ and brought here/ to be sold/ to men with an/ especially sadistic streak/ Even the authorities/ who did not participate/ stood watch/ to guard/ to protect the women/ The local mental institution/ was the largest residence/ on the island/

It was always in paradise/ where waves sounded like Elysian Fields/ where the worst of humanity/ drowned/ in aquamarine/ and pirate’s gold/ so long as the myth/ was created from pathos/ so as it remained a mystery/ so long as the/ sane/ the artistic/ the healers/ the shamans/ the eccentrics/ were tortured/ were exiled/ were strange and ill/ so long as the free/ were enslaved/ could there be what is called/ paradise/

The mask of an/ unspeakable/ a hidden/ an unforgivable violence/ just below the surface/ there/ within each person/ the potential/ it exists/ there exist/ infinite excuses/ to qualify malice/ Human beings will trench/ their very last heuristic/ to prove it/ and only in our/ blindest anger/sparkling like a satellite/ we falter/ a repulsive continuum/ a mutilated ecstasy/ The armies have overtaken/ the capital/ Paradise/ a requiem