Dear Empire

What good is your invisible hand, if it can’t pick up the pieces?
What good is your trickle down, when the cups are all broken?
What good is your mercedes, when the roads all have holes?
What good is your mansion, if you have to put a gate around it?
What good are all your things, when they don’t make you happy?
What good is all your money, when it can’t buy you love?
What good is your freedom, if you keep building more jails?
What good is your democracy, if it has to be imposed?
What good is your force, if you have to kill them all?
What good is your empire, when there’s nothing left to defend?

Monastic Period

Don't want to eat
Just want to starve these desires
Don’t want to drink
With any more thieves and liars
Don't want to talk
About things with feeling
Don’t want to smoke
I’ll hit my head on the ceiling
Won't take a seat
Just want to keep on walking
Won't open the door
Could be the Devil knocking.

Cheap Revelation

Paid six dollars for my revelation
Bought my ticket and went inside
A blue lamp sea
Faces I didn't want to be
They really didn't give a shit about me
While my whole life
Was in bed
Waiting for me
Praying for me
Crying for me
To finally come home.

House Cleaning

If people were things
Just lying around
Would you want to be an art book
When house cleaning comes
If people were tunes
Just humming along
Would you want be this love song
When your guitar strums
Maybe God will want you for his coffee table
But nobody here has use anymore
For “pretty pictures in my head”
Maybe the angels will forever be crying for what's been lost
But everybody here is as dry as bones.

what i want

people and things
that are beautifully discordant
pretty disturbing undertones and flaws
like later romantic period
of every dirty sentence john fante might have written
perfume like starfire lillies and pining basil
a good time in the sack
an admittance of the ambiguous nature of truth
conversation that gets to the funk like old iron rusted authors
really saying real things
like the idea that both good and bad
truth and lies
love and hate
real and artificial
all dwell within everyone and everything
in shades of tolstoy gray

a jesus
that is sweaty and real and laughs a lot
speaks in words that inflame constantinian christians
who wish caesar were christ
sings of love like pink punk beatles
strums a guitar like long haired willie
scrawls true manifesto
and accepts you for who you are.


echo chambers