3 new ones from deconstrucions that never would have worked

Dark Ruffled Beast

Like most nationalists

I quietly recede into

the motley parenthesis

and plot my next strafing.

I like jazz while counting

my rounds. Scoping my prey

w/Mingus on. I don’t go for heavy metal

or EDM. Never have. Makes me nervous

and jumpy isn’t the mindset

when prepping a raid on

the innocents.

I count bodies while Miles runs

the voodoo ’69. A dark, ruffled beast

eating deep into the consciousness.

Deep into the abhorrence we suffer and feign.

Mostly feign. Then go about our day.



I’m the new kid in town

pitching guns, gas masks, and layaway

to the would be heroes

of dishonored kings. I’m the

cheapest whore among my kin

w/a thin, mocking prayer

and an ill-defined God. I’m the shill

for president selling cruel dogma.

Heroin. Rendition. I play for the ladies

birthing new congress. I witness the scope

of the sterile parade. I sell you the tincture

and tonic. I sell you the keys

to the manacles.


You Missed a Comma

Let’s go on the premise

that you didn’t read them right

and that’s why my book

didn’t cut mustard.

Maybe you replaced

my emphasis w/yours

– a puckish liberty at best –

and missed the boat.

Missed the internal language

of decay. The words w/o compassion.

Maybe you missed a comma

or didn’t heed my marginal notes.

The fine print of my psychosis

is in full view and I suspect

you might have thought I was kidding.

I wasn’t. It’s all fucked up

and I’m gonna let you know about it.

I won’t let you forget. As my next submission

will prove.

Battle Cry




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