Funeral Parade of Roses

Trans joy, who is this? Shaudenfraude in opium fits Just data, in a terminal glitch Body flustered, disjointed in bliss Strange rhythms in the distance I snort, the shot pistons Puritan pissed, missed touch Smoldered host, in twisted clutch The smug toast, to my sober shoulder Regret turns cold, as the weather gets older Severe every tie to a cynic Mystic wisdom of a clinic Learn to laugh with juxtaposition Find my howling in joyful avarice I'll collapse in fatigue, on intoxicated soil Hunger rolls, a hunters role foiled What more to observe? A process in motion, still in vibration Low lights, in high places Twinks in sacramental formations Let's learn to teach lemmings congo lines Snort in the back, just a meager high But the music is astonishing Let me bury myself in my thoughts I could rule a crowd with iron fists If all I was, was talk, but I'm not It'd be a shame if I got caught Dollar store maidens, paving bimbos into personalities It's beautiful, in the blurry eyes or beholders Beautiful in ironic eyes, weary like mine Be free, for me even though I can't Pretend you won the war It's just red paint, if you squint Ain't it funny, how it all ends like this?' Birthed in sweat and blood, anxious pants Liar's on fire, with eternal angst Breathing is just rehearsal for drowning Sounding off, kill shots, a masked frowning Crowning queens, in smokelit public housing You tell me your stories, left doubting How could you manufacture, the astounding Purpose, betrothed to new curtains Falling like blood in the theater Deplete her neurons, just another creature Double features of death, all that's left is scent Repeating interactions in my head Your body just a phantom of my mind In time, I'll settle my debts But for now, spirits compromise in cents Listen to the light crackle, cackle at death Tell me I can't I want to slash out, all your mirrors An image of power, repeated forever Stand aloft, the coffins; dancing Casting doubt, shallow rituals We all seek security, old melodies Funeral homes, and prosical emptiness Your soliloquy, abandoned by tradition System, system; accomadation Self-care, relaxation, stagnation Aesthetician, weaver of transluscent nations Pick the corpses, from your porch 3 Story home, with cold hopes Stitch days, with gym time - intellectual decay How many shades, of beauty do you need? The arrays, of shifted phases New plays, new image; same damn portrait Decapitated corests, how many hours? Manicuring, a paegant for pigs? Audre Lorde's gaze, paved in my iris Parade for violence, stained eyelids Slash caverns, into mountainsides: scorned women So foolish, to presume: discourse could move a forced rhythm So insecure, unsure pistons: seek nourishment from violent patterns Siren sounds, not your's: forced error Terror, coursing through chariot's torching every era Women like us, should mold together Screeching between glass, can't hear her No women left, fake, two-way mirror Bud Light babes, in the heart of pale conception Dejected, in the nexus of sappho Wept, once again; breast neglected Models, make bodies for upright citizens Shoot her in the back, relax The lights are glistening, city workers At your service, heels curbed for attention Kid Rock, machine gunning 24-Racks In resistance, to movements never met No slack, corporate ties To whack bitches, who never react When violence at the homes, of women No time to relax, stars in hearts of street queens But I'm careening, through clean crowds So lost, so potent; do I know my motive? Coldly distracted, whiplash: escape madness The online beefing, over scraps I can't fathom, how any of this talk Can stop, the bones cracking Knuckle-dragging cops, trapped in ill fragements The rights, weighed on faulty patterns Tear gas cannisters, to audience laughter Looking at the pain, smug, like I called it Bum-rushed the sun, sunder alcoholics My breath intoxicating, the dogs; bite along Flesh rips, the agony of resolve I thought, I believed what I saw I guess, the face is gone- windstorm Dora Richter, grave in my palm Reading psalms, I guess the fate is undissolved Solid in the air, floating; lengths unknown Propaganda is a sunk cost, grift is too long Rather decay, than admit you were wrong