Ghosts and Ghouls

(this sounds a little emo, not intentional, but what the hell)

Now move on little men
Move on from the show
You cast your shadows on the stage
and the star can't see through the light
Grin now little men
Lick your lollipops
Drink your sores
you prancing dancing men
on the stage half naked
disease and everything else coarse and in your loins
Now move on little men
The shows about to being
The ladies wanted reality
Now show them what they already know
your bitterness like sap clinging to a dying tree
A Tasty treat for zombified specimens
Now move on little men
turn off the tv
Welcome back to life my friends
this will only hurt a moment.

A Criminal Act

When Gary Peters shot his son in the head, he did so with a look of pure pity, but his son wanted to die, and would have killed him if he hadn't pulled the trigger first.  For the next few days, which would lead into months, and into years, where his wife would leave him, and his community shun him, Gary Peters kept his resolve.  In the end though, he did die a poor broken down drunkard, whose only redeeming joy was knowing that his son was no longer dying in this hell we call life.  He found solace in that.  On the Tuesday night before his wife left him, the pair had tried to make love, but the fornication was less than erotic and ended rather abruptly.  It wasn't from lack of trying, but Mary had remarked that she continually saw their sons smile on his face, and just minutes later when he attempted to spoon with her that she hated him with everything she could hate with.  Gary understood of course, he had been the one to take aim, and fire.  He had been the one whose moral code was so far from the rest of his community to pull that trigger to come to the inevitable conclusion that he had come to.  If it had been a hollywood film Gary suspects the loving, hero father would have thrown his gun to the side, and accept being slain by his only son, because removing his offspring from this beautiful world would have been to painful.  And then Gary suspected the event would transform the boy, and the boy would learn to love the life his father loved so dearly.  But this wasn't hollywood and no one was closer to his son than he.  Even when he laid dying in that bed so many years down the line, he knew he made the right decision.  When the prison sentence eventually came down Gary Peters spent fifteen years behind bars for the murder of his son.  But he could never wrap his head around the event being dubbed murder.  Murder was something down out of hate, or lack of love, abscense of love, murder seemed emotionalf, murder was something sociopaths did, those serial killers who felt nothing did, this was done with every ounce of pain, and love, and bitterness, that comes with making a tough love decision.  The world had gone to shit, and his son couldn't take it anymore, there was some deep cerebral thing that wouldn't allow his son to function in the shit world.  If this cerebral thing was always there dormant in his mind, he would never ever be able to function in this world, now or at anytime.  And so when Gary took that shot, he knew he'd made the right decision.  It wasn't until the final inevitable faulter of his heart, on that deathbed that final moment of his final moment, that Gary Peters believed he was mentally ill.

A Rant.

So many  caustic tales of courageous men doing to many crazy contagious campaigns
Its only a matter of time before tin titans trample the trivial tide of timid traitors
They will flood the gates, growing gargantuan in greater grissly numbers till they gloat greatly with grievous grins
You and your young yuppies you'll yearn for yester years
For no one naps nightly for ninety-nine nights of naughty nit-picking

so many letters to so many words so many thoughts that sort of make sense, so many situational comedies that don't go anywhere but down, this isn't how so many lies spread, but how truths remain buried in bitterness, you wanta tear it away while i dream of sunny shores on a cruise around the universe, i'll keep on chasing stars, while i age into bones, and no one can stop me.  Til death do me part with my mind of millions of miniscule explosions, each one bigger than the next, but not even a speck on this blue planet earth.

Tragic diets can never bring people into good health, if they have anger residing on their shoulders, how alone the bitter feel, how distraught they feel with their rich tickets to ride from here to mars without so much as a musical note to carry them from one bar to the next, and one octave lower till the are forced to jump to the higher and are cut on the sharp, and slide down down down, beatin by whole notes, and drowning in a pool of white noise.

On the other side of the river, over there on the bright green pastures of tomorrow land, everything is possible, but so many people refuse to swim, you have to swim, and swim hard, push through the intensive digust of vomited pathos, the ranting of idiots may seem ridiculous and pointless, but deep inside there are hidden truths.  But over there, you'll find they were right, and while he's standing there happy and content to be sitting over there, you'll still scared of a little shit, getting on your expensive dress.  come eat the sugar sweets, and lollipop candles, even though he doesn't particularly like candy.

Word for Words

It's a strange day in paradise,
the moon is hiding from outer space
and the wind is blowing up into nothing

imploded marsupials dance in splatter patterns on bare white walls
and i can't tell which way is up

Christmas tree carols are hung on Halloween statues across the cemetary ice rink
but the beautiful grotesques are watching through pink eyes
and i can't tell which way is up

It's a strange day in this graveyard,
Shifting plates release the flow from the core of this earth
and the men chase hell in order to vanquish their allies
for no one wants to smell the spoiled cheddar halfway back to the safe house

Half the world watches the whole as they hold up in a hole of fecal matter
a chorus erupts inward down the mountainous volcanic island located right inside this kitchen
and i can't tell which way is up

Good fathers give bad mothers a smart way to die
but they refuse to be bad fathers for good mothers are in limitless supply except in places where rivers run dry
and i can't tell which way is up

holy books, and goblin hooks scattered on a cobalt shelf
Limestone tacos in cashew casings,
Waiting to eject from the passenger cart
and too little too late may hatch the chicken pre-maturely from his ooze
and lead him to unsettling depths of death.