The writings of Oddpoet

I like shiny things, I'm very superficial.

Courage was cul­ti­vated
Sold and inno­vated
Into plas­ti­cized records…
Bold to be seen
In the sec­tored regions
Unseen by the legions of prof­its
And scam­mers seek­ing mal­lets
And ham­mers to self-destruct…



What the fuck do you see?
Fil­tered on the jum­botron
To relieve
To recon­struct
The mal­ady of shag car­pet
In the fields of Dar­fur
To bet the ears of corn
On the purse
Of the igno­rant and the for­lorn
Plas­ti­cize…
What’s worse and what’s more
Than cries
Of mal­ice and New York whores
Sad­dled with AK47s
And chal­iced with the cups
Of over­seas geno­cide
And heaven’s doors



To see…
To kill the sight that bleeds
And bumps the world wide
Span of knees…
Fucked
Plas­ti­cized
Geno­cide induced lies
That flies from the lips
Closed
To those open with
Ter­ror­ized cries



Dis­tance grap­ples for the wrung
Caught and flung
By the omnipo­tent source…



Get out of bed, whores…
There’s work to be done
Work that slum­bers
On notions never begun.



So many notions never begun…



©Jen2010 2–5

Ringed
Inside kalei­do­scopic brim­stone
A Hierony­mus Bosch Vegas strip



Sans tourist



Smoth­er­ing vapors of sul­fu­ric mists
Tor­tures gasp­ing breath

Ya wanna scream

“Mommy”

But

Mommy ain’t here



Fish faced generic pedes­tri­ans
whose idea of a good time
Is a home car­pen­try project
Approved by Norm him­self



They sit behind rein­forced
Plex­i­glas
In air con­di­tioned
Save-way stores
Plead­ing
For dis­counts
And
The real deal



The demonic choir
Sing
Johnny Cash
With gui­tars
Made of human skulls
Stringed with the sinews
Of dead heroes



Big D
Enters
The circle

Wit a
Impec­ca­bly coif­fured
Elvis Doo

I guess every­body
Loves
The king



“You stay­ing Poet?”

“Don’t think so D
But thanks for
Asking”

“Ya know Your time is coming”

“Decided?

“Up or down?

“Think I might start
My own after­life D



Big D
Gives me an Elvis
My Way flour­ish
Swirling his black sequined cape

Get­ting into that phony

Elvis karate stance.



“Sounds inter­est­ing Poet
You always did know how to style
If you need a hand
You know where to find me”

“Cool D”

And I rolled.

Floun­der­ing…

Like a dead fish.

Gaz­ing at deep magic

Inside….Out.

Pil­lars of lust

Smoth­ered

Wrapped in cellophane.

Locked to immoral paths.

Visions in black and white

Against pre­scribed stan­dards of effi­ciency.



I peered out of my window

That TV screen whose chan­nel never changes.

And I SEE!

Androids filled with pre­tended purpose.

Run­ning to and fro toward mock destiny.

I see them har­nessed like cat­tle and led to troughs of offal where they feed.

Smiles fill there vapid faces.



For this was Life!

I see them walk pass fake trees and coun­ter­feit sunlight.

Night noth­ing more than an unplugged lamp.

They flash their vam­pire smiles

Teeth gnash­ing

Hunger’s need tem­porar­ily lend­ing false pas­sion to nothingness.

They see me and wave, “join us, and become one of us!”



I am the Last man alive.

I will never let them stick that straw of death into my head

And suck out my pas­sion, love and being.

I will never leave this place

I shall be con­tent to gaze out my window

That TV screen whose chan­nel I can never change.



Tears fill eyes

Pity fills my souls

I am the last soul alive

And I shall never leave my place.

For I will never become one of them.

Face dam­age actresses

Crip­pled dancers

Cas­trated Lotharios

Mute ora­tors

Were all there

I was a spe­cial guest



You see I had the Blues

And the Malt Shop

Is where you sim­ply had to be

When suf­fer­ing that fatal spir­i­tual mal­ady



I looked around at the col­lage of failure

A con­glom­er­a­tion of burnt souls

Aban­doned in scorched pits of the damned

No amount of tears

Could ever put that fire out.



I moseyed up to the counter

Tit-less porn queens with sewn mouths giv­ing half priced blow jobs

Defrocked priest sell­ing wafers auto­graphed by Jesus himself

An insur­ance man with his Moth­ers still beat­ing heart in his blood­ied hand

Bang­ing a deal with a used car salesman

Who watched with satisfaction

As his 11 year old daugh­ter pulls a train

with well dressed Turk­ish sailors

Busi­ness looked good



Boys scouts seek­ing merit badges

Sell crack to nuns

Don­ning the lat­est in Fredrick’s of Hollywood

God squad apparel



It was there

all our sins

We just don’t like to face it

We are all responsible

We are all guilty

The truth be a Mother Fucker



I closed my eyes and

Inhaled the filth

Pores open­ing

In hor­ror and greed

Ten­drils of madness

Vio­lated me

became part of me



Don’t worry

Mad­ness don’t scare me none

Been there

Done that.

Bet ya

it scares the shit out of you



What shel­tered lives

Most of the pretty peo­ple lead

So when you look with envy

At your neigh­bors weedless

Pris­tine green lawn

For a sec­ond



Just a sec­ond



Think of those people

In the Congo

Being hacked to death

With Machetes

It’s real

It’s hap­pen­ing

Now

And if you can get away

Come by the Malt shop

I’ll be there

Got

Plenty

of Room

I sud­denly became aware I was
Dis­tinct
Sep­a­rate
Alive
Cov­ered in blood
Won­der­ing
What it was
This
Thing
Called life
I heard the cries of aborted fetuses
Seek­ing repen­tance
Seek­ing abso­lu­tion
For imag­ined crimes.
Their sin
Incon­ve­nience
There wails drowned
Muted and masked
By heavy machin­ery
Oper­ated by manic thought police
Dressed as sailors
Car­ry­ing hypo­der­mics
Filled with mind fuck

I was to be the trained seal
In the cir­cus of garbage
They didn’t know
I was bro­ken, incom­plete
I escaped to
The night­mare of the real

It was not really reality

Nor was it Lies
It was a hal­cyon era of apple scented mad­ness
Laced with truss rods of greased despair

Blind­folded visions of genet­i­cally altered cir­cus midgets
Play­ing mime to blind audiences

Painted vir­gins with jism stained dol­lar bills
Rolled, shaken
And stirred
Inserted Into for sale orifices

The screams of sev­ered heads plead­ing for body complete

Mutated Pheas­ants armed with auto­mat­ics
Butt fuck­ing hunters who scream why?

The dead become annoyed
Seek­ing eter­nal rest
Screech­ing alarm clocks
Awaken them
As the sadis­tic Gods laugh

Pissed off Zom­bies cry­ing “Brains”
Can’t find any

Bankers molest­ing children

Lawyers blow­ing bankers

Politi­cians laugh a creak­ing rusty hinged sound

Sight­less lovers seek­ing ful­fill­ment
Feel­ing only whores and lies

Mir­rors offer no com­fort
That swirling mist of promised magic
Merely con­firmed who we are not

Truth that cheap FILTHY WHORE

Screams orgas­mic shouts and moans
Body quiv­er­ing
Pre­tend­ing
She is not a will­ing sac­ri­fice at the altar of con­ve­nience
The vic­tim of lie’s ser­pent tongued promises?

Engulfed in an ill-fitted black robe of the lonely heart

They are all out of solace

Tears always pave the path to surrender

Emo­tions seethe and boil

Crit­i­cal mass reached.

I no longer sleep in a bed.
Beds are for faggots

There can be no com­fort here

I roll on the floor
At home with roaches and the denizens of the night

Leath­ery wings Play ser­rated whip saw sounds

Only I can hear

The sounds of bare survival

They laugh at joy

Chit­ter­ing know­ing words

They speak
Whispering

“You do not belong
You never did”

Yet they call me back
“YOU WILL JOIN US!”

The sound of cocked pis­tols
And lawyer lies
Con­gealed like Hye­nas
Bark­ing on an asphalt park­ing lot

Baby’s heads greas­ing the treads of wheeled deceit

Yet their vam­pire smiles
No longer frighten me

“YOU WILL JOIN US!”
The Zom­bie choir sings
Feign­ing Mozart

They do not suf­fer alien­ation
The law of lies and mad­ness will pre­vail
No sanc­ti­fi­ca­tion
No abso­lu­tion
I ignore them all
Mere tune­less wind chimes
Play­ing dis­cor­dant exis­ten­tial sounds of phony despair

Death knocks at my door
He claims us all as his own
He drips drool like Pavlov’s dog

I smile
I have been seek­ing you Death
Your lies stink
How can you claim one
Who has never lived?

His steps fal­ter
His sickle
Becomes
A broom
And I charge him to sweep the pain from this World

The though police
Cap­tured me
Finally

Kafka was the judge and jury
I was con­victed
Of seek­ing mean­ing in the meaningless

“Don’t you know?” he laughed
“Life is just a hal­cyon era of apple scented madness”

Wheeled…
Strapped to a char­iot of the infirm
The clank­ing of ungreased wheels
Play dis­cor­dant sounds over the well worn anti­sep­tic linoleum

Faces of Nor­malcy
Dis­play­ing well prac­ticed smiles
Feign­ing heartrend­ing concern

Flu­o­res­cent lights
Flash strobe like
Reveal­ing motion in stac­cato relief
Kalei­do­scope fig­ures move with furtive intent
Pulling strings attached to vials of phar­ma­ceu­ti­cal salvation

They con­trol the mar­i­onettes of the damned
They orches­trate the dance of the mutants
Legs dance, con­torted, painful
Bod­ies bent at impos­si­ble angles
The Mutants move to the inces­sant demands of the strings
Their faces scream their hope­less­ness
Jux­ta­posed with silent resignation

The audi­ence laughed and applauded
Such funny mar­i­onettes
For who can not help but laugh
At the dance of the mutants