Closed casket

Quetzalcoatl, axolotl, acid in an absinthe bottle
full on throttle, getting coddled, drinking in a bombshell grotto
crafting schemes, blowing steam, spitting up to smudge the sheen
magic beans, vanilla creme, envy till his toenail's green
rotten breath, close to chest, winner winner chicken breast
pay the debt, nothing left, ride the wave and break the crest
hey what's wrong, dead and gone, trekking trails in Avignon
push the pawn, drop the bomb, sprint into the morning fog

Hig

That bottomless moment between sundown and light
when I remember you and the songs we used to like
And the games we would play with our words before
You passed.

I miss you in the moonlight
But come dawn you're a memory on my bedsheets

Dada

We're not so different - you and I.
I spy that you rely on approval to justify your life
And lie with your mouth and lie with other women
Destroy the trust you barely earned to begin with
Burn the bridge that took you to the promised land
And promise two hands you'll be their man.
Tell me what's your plan.
Tell me where you hide your golden idol.
Is it in the bridal gown you spurned or the eyeful of mounds
You yearn for and sell your soul for?

I thought the family jewels were somewhere in a bank, Dada
But you showed me they're in the flank, Dada
In thighs, chests, flesh pressed, and breasts
I find my sign, the family crest

Proverbs

I brought the book back from the binder
its spine entwined with rustic maroon
and placed it resting on the nightstand
to accompany me to that world of hallucination
On waking, I gushed with words
and spoke the truth for all to receive
But they took them as platitudes
Proverbs and truisms
and turned away in search of troubles
more complex

Nervoice Condiction

Jitter on the latex seat
with teeth to chatter
keys to clatter
veins pulsate with poison -
arsenic and strychnine
until I find release from time.
Clock's chains remain; I flick
the off switch in vain.
Temporary insanity - I plea
Can't be guilty if I'm only midway to crazy

Punkbuster

I am now a rumbling piece of the machine
the glowing screen that screams and gleams
compelling moonfaced teens to preen with stunted self esteem.
You must have this connection for society to function
sever your server mainline and face time unceasing
the greasy mechanical beating of spindly thought feces

Heroes and Harlots

Here we are in the waiting room of a man's mind
Paying no mind to the wrinkled lines on worried foreheads
Reclined against a well-chosen chair and mouthing standard fare
To some carefree busybody with a sickening attention to detail
Who picks at the cloth of your shirt, knowing it hurts
Who picks at the lobes of your brain, not wanting to explain
Before you pass through the threshold, more fears and less bold
and chatter to the Hungarian man mustachioed holding pills.
Pills for heroes and harlots that fight brain rot and may not
be as effective as expressed in the paid television commercial but
you must take for months on end and spend and spend to mind your bend.
Pills! This is the topic of conversation to sweep under peculiar carpets and
doormats, that we hush up in whispering tones and press into the palms
of our close friends - take my pills and my secret, take my bond and my barrier -
Milligrams in twisting bands, a sleight of hand for tryptophan
Hungarian man minds less where I'm going
he feeds me gruel and serotonin