immigrant song

are we broken by spoken barbs spewing out of sewers cloaked beneath acceptable garbs while the blades of splintered humanity are sharpened into lethal shards of ‘my country right or wrong’ under the comfortable charade of clinging onto feigned piety dragged along weaving new lies obfuscating what’s right and what’s wrong waving flags like swords wielding swords to behead and to subjugate the many who’ve forever been on the wrong side of the gate shut out of the dream pummelled by untruths of working hard and doing more and shutting up because we need the money the greenback the notes the coins the oil the designer innerwear that barely shrouds the stench of putrid opulence of festering greed of capital and influence and power ripping out each seed by the by wishing a better life for all a hasty goodbye because when love and life and hopes and dreams and aspirations and desires and aches and yearning for something better just a bit better not much not much at all except for some grain for the famished and respite for the numberless banished cast away into the currents of the seas swept along islands of stillness breaking ashore with the waves of happenstance.

so yes
yes

“that’s how i got to be here”, the immigrant says …

your fingers, mine

your fingers
mine

sketching dreams
scribbling hopes

my fingers
yours

holding back
resistant

knowing the path ahead
littered with thorns

oblivious
knowing

the path ahead must be walked

alone at times
but never lonely

not with you by my side
evoking a belonging felt true and deep

inside

awakening

awakening

the caress of hair
whispered dreamily

swirling symmetry
between hungering mouths

lips tongues
intertwined

basking in this moment
holding onto each kiss

for dreams cease
only to be left

aflutter
in the willowy haze of diluted time

leaving the detritus:
merely wasted time

behind …

but then, you always knew …

only you will know
and i will gladly laugh along

ill say my stale jokes
ill (try to be at least lol) try to be charming

maybe not too classy
but with a not-too shabby sense of humour

and that is always what they like

but even so

at the end of it all

you will still know

and i shall be grateful
that you know

knowing too
that you always knew …

the fog of war

the fog of war …

when does this ache cease
where does this path lead

if not
deep

into the quagmire
of
no-mans land

alone lonely
wishing it were
the nightmares
once so real

now all too true
as i lay
bogged down

stagnant entrenched
inert
yielding not an inch

yet still
still

not a moment passes
and
hardly a second fractions

till

thoughts of you invade my being

pummeling through me

a dazzling light
blinding ablaze

breathing fire

igniting
raw real
famished

desire to breathe

again
once more

in
my sleepless dreams

wounded
shrapnelled torn

forever
slipping into the blur

yet still
still

“its alright”

yet still
still

its your voice
that

through the fog

i hear

                … a faint
                      murmur

channeling rustin cohle

channeling rustin cohle …

… yeah so okay it’s all just horseshit this damn grinder of souls enmeshed in sordid dreams of twisted consciences lost along the highway of shovelled lies spawned by the inebriated copulation of the gelatinous whole this whole hysterical theatre of bits and bites of neurons sparking all just electricity just plain damn old electricity seeding grief sorrow pain loss ache death life hiroshima where the living envied the dead yes that place this place still this place that exists as large as castles in our collective so called human minds collectively speaking of course but also force-fed the illusion of individual choice …