This Is Not Art

Poetry to Split the Social Order

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

The City

The city
all splayed out
on the bottom floor of the morgue
a dim light flickering overhead
and a cold table to rest its head
while I
a parasite
living on the last vestiges of its life
waiting to die
swimming through the veins of this cold place
have found meaning
in the fading light
of this dying body

Monday, February 27, 2012

Shadow

branches twisting upwards
stabbing holes in the sky
gnarled knives of fire carving darkness
into shards of shadow

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Roses

the rose petals littered the floor of the apartment
Ethereal weaves of red sweetness
and the ceiling dripped wax
while she stared into space
Empty eyed
looking out at the world as if under a frozen pond
the days all morphed in front of her desolate stare
she closed her eyes
she thought of something beautiful
her, with wings, flying above this rust covered world
everything bathed in a bright orange glow
then she smiled
as she lit the first match
and lay down in her bridal dress
to accept the flame

Better

veins stretched to the earth
burrowing down into the center of the heart of the heat of the world
To destroy the demon lurking inside
of this world that is a cancer
A cream colored abnormality
with vomit bumps and bruises
I am wet inside like a cave
I am a battery caked in crud
The planet is a Giant
and I want it to Die
with me inside



I Think This Will Get Better

Dancing

in the luminescence of a filthy light bulb
My life is set before me
my skin becomes transparent
and I see all these lines
traversing every night I have thought about death
about killing myself
and I feel like a coward
for considering to capitulate
I want to slit the throat of death
or dance with it
I am not sure which
and that confusion
that is the worst

Friday, February 10, 2012

Destruction

the whitest alabaster stick of wax
sitting in a puddle of pungency
a sickening smell that would turn your stomach
or get you high
fills the lead painted windows and cracking dry wall
as it burns lower and lower
and the room bleeds brighter and brighter
till the walls are ripped by angelic white
and the timbers sound like a gunshot
and the funeral dirge begins
and the wailing organ song destroys the place
where everything resides