I
Trapped in a black hole,
a music hurting the ears;
no hint of escape.
A recurrent dream
of a burnt out face
beyond recognition;
leftovers of a sharpened pencil.
Lying in a dingy hotel room
trying to enjoy the blowjob
another obscure whore.
The mind fluttering all the while,
like a piece of plastic
on a long busy highway,
struck by flying cars:
one after one after one.
Eating, drinking, smoking
beautifully in a Limbo.
II
Finishing in seconds,
but still unstoppable.
Wanting and wanting the unending.
A zombie like hunger
for dirt and decadence.
Trying to control instincts,
and erections from infinite failings.
From hopelessness
of a postmodern definition.
Infatuations running the show,
trying to taste the roundness
of saddened women
and tired woes.
Stealing of springs,
and murder of kings,
poisoned to grow.
Some came, saw and conquered
rounds of diabolical lusts.
III
Like a whole chicken,
or a steak
of some unfortunate animal
with dependent families
and children under care.
Dying.
Juices dripping,
and curries being slurred.
Countless bones broken
in an endless array of restraints.
And one day eating into a strong wood
unstoppable, hungry termites.
The home falls, fails
as if from the lightning struck skies.
While someone shows
fear in a handful of dust.
Oh! Help
Big eyes, and a long tongue.
Gluttony.
IV
But, I want more
some murky Goosebumps off music.
Unknown, un-understood,
still tightened to a Banyan
red threads of forgotten prayers
and fictions of helplessness.
Corruption eating through
and Absalom dying by a brother.
What is needed?
Or wanted of importance?
Doesn’t matter.
Assassinations of presidents
in power, in cars and in theatres.
Historically metamorphosising
of course
justifications of endless wars
both good and bad.
Greed takes over.
V
Mobs shouting in vengeance
punishments for force,
of rapes, heinous to lurch.
Another Hulk like repetition
of roars and bashings.
For spilt milk and
broken kites and
madness.
Only existing feelings
trying to drown insights
in an alcohol induced stupor.
Unable to recognize
prescriptions in a flow of ecstasy:
drugged all night
to psychedelic involvements of fun
and sleep.
What is and shall be
contained in Rage.
VI
Brand new suitcases,
filled with dying faiths.
What matters?
But nothing,
maybe a human stage.
Reading aloud Shakespeare
or some other play:
of known and unknown
and another Johnson, another Yeats.
Shoes getting torn,
While Sinatras shouting,
of importance and walking.
Chemically structured bags
taking over the everyday.
In hands and under eyes.
While several Godots
mark the arena
of much desired defiance
and Heresy.
VII
Wars taking over,
definitions and vivifications
of brilliance and poems.
A switched on mobile charger
humming the high pitch
of unconnected chords and race.
Dangling hands.
Eyeless heads.
Suicides from bombings.
Reading Poe’s raven
in a self explanatory combat.
While hordes of mice
cooked alive in Auschwitz
and mountains giving way.
Least said, in darkness abound.
Taking over all
Ragged institutions of violence.
VIII
Lying to selves,
but the basis for life.
What is left but sanity
drying up in worn out semen
and torn hymens
of wasted madness.
Eighty year long cheatings,
gathering money
off useless protests
and communist revolutions.
Truth, it is there
delineating worries of
car thefts, destitution and dope.
Viva la treachery
and offspring of fraud.
IX
This is all there is.
Lost in translations,
of metaphors and
heaps of broken images.
Repeating words
and unending lines,
capturing penniless forms
of some authority.
What is understood
is but a deception of,
escaping verses
and meta-meta tries.
Here is another I,
lying in search
for its Inferno.
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