At the Lost and Found

Finding pleasures in view of the watchtowers
The well disciplined disciples holding rifles
The supply and demand refrain repeated like the Rosary
Kept organized by wholesalers standing back while they turn on the Holocaust showers


Drum beats of philosophies awakening the beast
learning linguistic tricks to keep the trickle-down to a minimum
The colonels prepare their paranoia
its no time to jest
keep to yourself what's pounding in your chest.

Divisions dividing the haves from the haven't a hope in hell
Air support upping the ante
Snake oil greasing minds susceptible to leaks from where the roots take root and tall trees dwell
Legal lunatics staight out of the schema of Dante.

Finding pleasure in the Underground
Singing Amazing Grace at the lost and found.

busting out of the dystopia

Image via WikipediaHere in the city on the edge of the sea.
Picked up by Europeans with gun powder and powdered wigs.
Used to pick a fight with the other schmucks and blow the lock off Lady Enlightenment.
They couldn't find the keys.
Got all that could be robbed if could not be rigged.

Centuries later the ghosts of the past crumble in old forts.
Paranoia surviving the centuries.
Points of interest for tourists.
Shadowing all the beauty.

O give me a home where the cop thoughts leave you alone
And the fear is not foggy all day.
Where no one hands you a bone
And leads you astray

And the hammers give off a hum building your basic utopia
Like the bees busting out of the dystopia.

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Staying Power

A touch of death giving him the lesson of love
A surrendering up of the little stuff exposing the real stuff
The grim reaper with the heart of gold coming in from a place suggestive of
a diamond in the rough.


The tic for tac tune bursting like a balloon
That Somebody to Love song trying to sooth the brain
rekindling flashes of youth bathed in truth out by the light of the silvery moon
The message still trying to get through and you with one foot on a moment that can't be sustained
the other foot losing its feeling for solidity,
having an Einstein moment discovering antigravity

Princes of Darkness down on the ground barking with their dogs
In need of a remedy
and relief from the slog
in need of a few laughs tracks for the tragicomedy

The mercenaries are on their way
The mercenaries mount the the watchtowers.
In the wind the trees sway,
demonstrating staying power.

don't need no hallucinogens

What's the matter with the masters and their mendacity actors clunking all the way to the bank
is they're getting over anxious thinking too much on the plight of species that have gone extinct
And on former plundered empires and formally cool communities underneath layers of parking lots and temples.
But still with magical cultural powers enticing the mountains to move aside while the metallurgists set up the mines, fortunes interlinked,
digging out the shiny stuff that gets them steely eyed , and nouveau egos setting up hierarchies of instant royals with instant fortunes to do themselves the honor of being just one more asshole
with that grimace like the cat that's swallowed its adversaries.
Be wary

Walking thru the dark forest at night without a flashlight or a cigarette lighter.
Under those conditions, all things are sudden
Like cops coming thru the door at dawn,
natural born arbiters,
to maintain the terror gap and keep the bottom on the downtrodden.


Malleable laws for Darfur and Malibu
Maintain deniability with the curriculums that have done a good job of cooling curiosity
into the origins outside the zoo.
Into the game of just one more atrosity
Its a matter of prosperity
and the free will of the racket launchers
taking you to the cleaners

The sinners repeat their amens,
giving praise to security fences, don't need no hallucinogens.

Clarity

 
Giving a say on the situation
On Why overgrown tribes threaten the sky
Good Wishes gone to fission
And humming hawks hover for sparks of hope shook up enough to give it the old defy try.

Welcome to the wellspring of war
Summers of love in the blood
In Hell its hard to keep score.
The price you pay is favorite fragments thudded into the mud

Here we go led by our noses
Round and round the rehash
Tactility telling you something about high pressure hoses
In your head the beat of the Clash

Clarity needs a squeegee
Empathy needs an enemy.

only onwards

only onwards

The onliners sputter in the face of sparks , stroked by electricity, looking for a way out of the tomb
Go into the high timbers trying their hand at enhancing the optics
still wet behind the ears like in the womb
hanging by the teeth on high rise answers doing high anxiety antics

trying to remain cool while the spool rolls to the end
Cinematic dreams filling in for the gaps when the ice melts on the isomorphical topics
hear the ripping off of logic
time spent in foxholes and fire drills only memories that have gone around the bend
forgotten when the top comes off at the tail-end


The mic's still turned on ;
speakers speak while glasses clink
while the breath still tickles vocal cords
while the breeze still blows and shops still open and close and the ships still come in , not how but when.
A crowd has gathered , some kind of celebration , they got the word
The sun in certain settings warms the skin without and within

Circumnavigating suburbia , giving regards to crashed houses of cards
No reverse , only onwards.

nothing comparable

The moon light quantified except for the magnetic magic in the knees
a something not quite right night
Causing urges that are a concern of lawmakers and lawn care contractors alike
Causing from somewhere under the skin a blood sugar rush and a growl like the first time coming down out of the trees

taking flight
early twenties thinking life is
a hollywood hitchhike
Awakening giants carrying around hammers, the stars in their eyes not quite ripe,
carousing

in the aftermath
landing softly into the dawn
Where every move is a miracle on the road less on the level
unwrapped wrath
Where every sensation awakens from a sleep floating at dusk like the swoon of a swan
Alarm clocks going off like bombs
Up there with the satillites
Rattling the chains of scientific method
Which can be forgotten in the rays of non stop bouncing sunbeams
Casting to the wind , the IDs

Far away and close at hand molecules mixed up with miracles
given the moot treatment by the terrribles
With a cushion for comfort there's nothing comparable
almost bearable

Terrorist

 
His/her muse is a fuse
Inside themselves and inside a mechanism that goes boom
Right or wrong its a rosy ruse
Leaving a plethora of plutonium perfume.


A focused bunch who know the value of the crunch
Chaos is for heros hot for heat at the edge of hell
Playing their hunch
Not waiting for thoughts to dwell.

Marching to midnight
Disintegration on the plate
And still pleasantly polite
By killing they get to relate.

Undo's all done.
Left with the looniness and whatever can be spun..

damn ya

Outing of the gods, part of the PR package
The spiritual engineers and their partners in the war departments running the rackets
Born to plunder levels about average
when you factor in carbon credits from other planets.

Mediums of exchange clang
Temptations drum in the brain like a pulse
The in and out crowds at a head bang
The acts of gutter rats wrapped in finery but one look in the eyes will repulse.

Getting over to the slow down lane
Take the exit to the still a thrill drive thru
Have picnic in the middle of the pain
Spread the blanket and see what accrues

Change of plans in the pleasurama
Sweet dreams in the fields that would normally damn ya.

hard boiled law

Melodramatic third degree coming from smarmy faces
The hard boiled law and its representatives regulating pleasures and breathing
Step out of line and a rent a cop assisted by a professor measure the indices
of the freak on the steet , part of the science of justice needed to dick whip deviants who've been hit by lighting.

Big league recess
The observation of the basic interactions not changed much since the ancient greeks
and their blades swinging along with their noble notions,
once in a while coming up with a good guess
Everything going along fine til the 60's turned on the freaks
Thank god for oprah and the getting in touch with the emotions.

Getting action with distraction at a fraction of the cost of bringing out the cops.
No need to wear the boys and girls out cracking heads when the professors do their job and keep the tongues tied
Replacing the twinkle with the terror in the eye as time goes by with frequent stops
To cheer and bear it and learn to live with jekyll and hyde.


The dust to dusters and the greenhousers holding hands
Ecumenical Wahabbis having a hell of a time hollering from highjacked black helicopters
And the earth wasters firsters playing with the reconfiguration buttons on satellite activated wacky wands,
betting their bottom bulldozer on a high yield monster
in a world a little moister .

Open Source Aliens

 
dipping into the wind blown unknown,
exploring for a formula to explain the easy come easy to blow agenda
Things such as the power struggle mechanics as explained by the guys wearing the strong smelling cologne
at at the other end of the op ed , the smell of decay amidst the victory hurrahs recorded on memoranda acting bananas.

Available to be queried as a reference when the thesis falls to pieces
Buffered up and bull headed despite the Pompeii prescription for their condition.
Wasted words dipped in the abyss at the boundry of the bountiful, looking for relief
from the messy mission.


Hot feet on hot pavement and coming around the corner , armed insurgents.
Favorites looking fungal
Looking for a corner with promises of a covenant
And a hot meal and a moment to mingle.


The earth and its processes assimilate the insanities
Open source aliens studying the humanities.

itchin and scratchin

 
peace signs are flashing , war signs on the grill flaming up at random
presidential candidates proposing to double your W
Out of of some over done genre novel, the blowhards blow out in tandem
Werewolves showing their stubble.


Marching to the beat , lost in cyberspace
itchin and scratchin with information
Twitching with words twisted and so won't fit on a bookcase
Wisdom is a restaurant or a whiskey or some line of fashion, or some new dot.com foundation.

For What Its Worth on ipods comfort zoning the chaos engines
The reflexes losing the survival instinct
Rehearsals for the post- apocalyptic horror flick raw with adrenaline
But the cautionary tales have failed to keep the raves from raiding the the junk
drawer
In the face of the giant waving the flag , official circle systems gone defunct.

The eleventh hour putters along while the power brokers sputter
The fury that matters letting out a mutter and forming into clusters.

Surviving by Their Nimbleism

Democracy , the market , and human rights coming off lips,
when you hear them its not hard to visualize the misery coming following the falling of the chips
Orwell in a swoon
The science proves there's a man in the moon.

The undercover anxiety sexing up the slaughter
at the meeting of the bought out and the buyer
The blues of birth in fields of export crops
The hierarchy hanging high while the blood drops.

Reporters asking questions
But nobody's 'fessin
Eyes coming out of the pockets
Ignition switches busted off rockets
The news without an echo chamber
Regulated by persons with the higher caliber.

Blood poured on silos
By persons tired of singing solo
Imprisoned for their symbolism
Surviving by their nimbleism.

Its Routine

 
Its routine now,
all for the the misers, none(statistically) the wiser
the chimes of the unkind come crashing , hauling around sacred cows
you get to bow or else set on fire.

Seeing the beauty in the rocket launch
the lords of the sting spread their wings
the majestic agenda needs no boss
has its own sentimental head games to distract from the sounds of the uncouth that could make them cringe

Kill and then shred crocodile tears
Turn it into an industry
Mouths wide open, swallowing the delectable distance in every direction, at one with the weird
chemistry coming off the master slave dichotomy.

Listening you can hear the thundering losing its voice of choice
From time to time
moments of freedom tickling in the bones of the sublime.

Direct from Abu Ghraib

 

Some of these nazis can be convincing
Take Brit Hume, as sincere as Britney Spears
In a bubble talking trouble , head in need of a rincing,
perhaps do a demonstration of waterboarding to alleviate our fears.


parade out the tortures like the Russkis used to parade out the tanks
protection against the hard rain
yeah Brit could be a star direct from Abu Ghraib
each episode dedicated to intricities of a particlar technique of raising pain

Doing a public service , proving he's a patriot
A sour cowboy yelling to the shooters on the range
A great describer of blood and guts
Neeeded to be spilled so he can remain to harangue.

More than just a job, an Old Testament rebel yell
And about the pay, you can't complain, and you can raise hell anywhere with a cell.

Bingo

 

the wind blowin in wearing earphones to get a listen
everything from the howl and snap of hurricane to gentlest breeze of justice
Knowing it won't be no hootenay when the Nixon lookalikes stop pissin
And start rippin at an extremely high level of robustity.


Either Iraq or we can talk.
Cool off in the heat
And when it cools down , walk the walk
And taste the sweet.


The weather's unpredictable but you learn to live with it
The currents through the mind, even more so, flooding over before they hit the sea
And some day soothing with smooth sailing and no memory of being stuck in the silt
You can breath on the sea sailing to the trees.

learning a new lingo
and winning at bingo.

This little corner of the cartoon

The up north mortals conjure a new portal of power with a new throttle.
Down in the south horizons close , coming like a landslide down a mountain.
Experts resupply the over-supplied and dis the desperate standing in the rain sipping the abyss in a bottle.
Certain that this is curtains.

Hegemony of the facilitators wedged between hallelujah to you, and the edge of the American way of doing the dark ages.
Biting bullets bitterer than Hitler in the bunker taking the pledge to stay away from beerhall rages.

Out in the garden a rubble harvest for the bubble farmers.
Conceptual corn to corner the market.
The bounty barren but wearing armour
To reduce the risk of being a terrorist target.

In this little corner of the cartoon
they're melting down memories of the ruins.

drumming in the drought

Prosperity , a rarity statistically
But from the boob tube culture with the right lighting
you'd think all you had to do was to baptize yourself in the radio waves of the latest electronics and talk neo-mystically,
wrapped up in psychological flags with the after effect of white knighting,
to the rescue of the uninformed and the misconstrued.
Out with the old in with the lawyers to rewrite the new.
True, high explosives for the overused , and in with new embassies secure and improved.
Got the whole world in a zoo.

From the air and from the sea , tactically racking up victories.
With the blessing , except in a few rare cases, of the Holy Men
on the plus side of pleasantries
delivering the spiritual, tongues tied up in political amens.
Turning the survival instinct into sin.
Los Angeles crammed down the throats of the devout.
Slouching out of the doubt
Revolutionary dispatches drumming in the drought.

Willability

 

Like the legions of legend
Like the loonies with a lesson
With the limits of their dimness

The skirmishes continue, seizing the celebrum of the masses. The mania of power. Digging in . With atomic lies.
And theories.
Individuals connected in the quantum hologram
According to astronauts with cosmos thoughts, there's hard evidence, a construct to explain consciousness.
And the elected warlords, and the unelected : dysfunctions hogging the process
like cancer of the thoughts moving into where life professes.

Thoughts travelling thru space.
The initiators of chaos
The initiators of grace
Moving mysteriously under the gloss.

Thoughts soaking in the soul, out of sight delight.
An aching and an ecstacy
Electric letters turning on the light
Or getting dull burrowed in bureaucracy

Dangerous atomic triggers
Pouring doom all over the room
And a Los Alamos match in butterfingers
And thoughts return to the womb

In a foxhole of fallibility
With a fierce willability.