my mind

My mind runs around the track like a race dog chasing the mechanical rabbit slave dog performing in a pungently backwater display of evolutions absence chasing falseness the promise of something instinctually desirable or once tasted and forever coveted how cruel to give the beast a scrap of game just to keep it running round without comfort without love touched most by six sides of a cage and the memory of inky pins imprinting identity or whatever the breeder thought that was or should be how many times can I travel the damnable raceway these trenches of churned mud where comrades have blown their last unfulfilled blood riddled breathes before I become obsolete maybe if I’m lucky someone pulls me out puts me in a home where humans walk on eggshells for fear of my past rearing its ugly head and ripping the falsely peaceful present to ribbons.

what is

What is love and what is hate

are they comparable to such phenomena

as good and evil/ light and darkness

they say you cant have one without the other

but that theory has always seemed (infuriatingly) flawed-

i.e. ‘you cant have your cake and eat it too’

(I can’t imagine what the concocter of that expression

was doing with it,

I typically waste confections by consuming them).

Don’t they feed from the same vein

love and hate

from our ineffectual feel good passions

those that leave us starved and crazed

or inspired and praised-

paradox is the spice of life

assuming we are all metaphorical sufferers of IBS.

Where is love and what is hate

do they live in our chests

are we children

or is it a chemical defect, an over-allowance of something

that casts us into this unfortunate position.

Spit a globule of affection into your hand

and spread it across my psyche if you can

what are we if not mammals, beasts

I need honest conviction to believe in anything-

thank dishonesty, the ever expanding benchmark of humanity-

I don’t blame all of us,

only those who knowingly parcel out lies

in neat packages labeled absolution, deception.

What is life and where is love

there’s hate

floating across my mind, I see it

an oily film across our lives

projected from the asshole of every sentient speck.

We cant help but love our sadistic furies

sayeth mein soul fuehrer.

The Plight of Raising a Child

Is it by moral deficit,

a sad deficiency of my humanity

or by a more desirable quality

that I find myself explaining the bare bones of death

to my two year old son

in terms of truth

and not by means of overladen 

and subsequently meaningless metaphors.

I can not spill words of heaven

over his pliable mind

like the ridiculousness of holy water

or two pieces of wood glued together

to ward off evil- an abstraction 

ironically, hysterically 

maddeningly! man made-

like daylight savings time and monsters and morality.

There will be no delusions 

of an uncharted utopian realm 

too far to reach (sans effervescent wings)

which awaits the sinless (a word begging ridicule)

as if the dead are noble ambassadors of the living

and not in fact mounds of expired matter to be burned,

to gouge the land with long boxes full off nothing

but vain sentiment. 

I find comfort in finality

closure

death is the end

and all other explanations

are absurdly

imaginative.