Lady Liberty’s Face

I beg alms from the rare passers by

Here at my little corner of the universe
The one I painted myself into

With gradients of gray charcoal

And unsteady fingers, constantly erasing

or smearing the blurry lines between
The reality and the fantasy

The Agony and the Ecstasy

The You and the me.
It's never a pretty picture.
My bowl is still empty, too

It's got a drain in it that can't be 
stopped up, or so it seems...

Every bit of love freefalls into its abyss

I told you that one day you would tire

of this explosive suitcase bomb kiss

that I proffered.
My allure has

a built-in obsolescence

A must-destruct code

in its concupiscence.
Just call me Pris.
Like a Tyrell Corporation

mendicant replicant...

I want more life, fucker...

But all my crying is in vain

It's just tears in the rain.
Wish I lived in an

Ansel Adams photograph

Instead of floating along

this megapixel Asimovian Babylon.

His blacks are not shadowy

And his whites don't blind
He snapped shots of a world

Tinged in a Patron silver

tequila spun light
So unlike

The cyber hyperspace

I inhabit now...
I'm lost

Got caught

Inside

The cool blue blight
Its 
Wavy gravy particles

made to mesmerize.
How did I let this happen?

This viral dance
with ribbons of words

Tied into sailor knots shot
Out of a Howitzer

with errant arrows

That boomerang back

to wound my Eros.
All those streamers of

meaningless encounters with you

Gaily waving in a
 festive doomsday wind

Tied to a motorcade cruising

at Sunday afternoon ease.
Sulu at the helm...
Oblivious to the danger

in the parade

Never seeing the Oswald

crosshairs on the grassy knoll.
Our smiles wrapped

in bright birthday bows

and honeycombed in hope...

As we dive-bombed the future.
Those playtimes?

Where did they all go?

The sand pails and the apple trees?

The rainbows and the sweet dollies?
Guess they all eloped

with the Easter Bunny

Or were kidnapped by the Sandman

To sow dreams for other deluded folks

With self-forged yokes

that choke and sputter

In a chitty chitty shitty shitty

bang bang gutter...
Gutter

{{{{Shudder}}}}

Utter 

the

Gutteral

Language
La Lingua Franca...

Che stancha!
I'm sick of words.

Sick of people who wield them

like the Evil Queen's mirror, too.
"Mirror Mirror on the wall

who's the cleverest of them all? "
Making obvious observations

seem like grand epiphanies.

Weaving prayer rugs from the grazing

of their jelly belly lint.
Such little bundles of wriggling Id,

Colicky and cranky crying out constantly

Their chronic need to show their profundity,

Spewing geysers of gullibility.
Me, included...

Blah blah blah...
We think, therefore we are.

We are, therefore we think.

And into the abyss we sink.

Stinking like 1000 year old eggs

Chicken, egg.

Egg, chicken.

We don't care as long

as it's finger-licking
Good
Just as we should...
We are the gift that keeps giving

Just ask the universe

Who's on first?

No!

Who's on second!

I thought you said
Who was on first?

I dunno...

Third base!
It's all a second rate

Machiavellian vaudevillian show.

Screw it, spew it, then chew it...

We pedal on the Krebs cycle, yo

Til we cannibalize ourselves

The bastard children of Cronus, after all.
Let's make a Gulag Archipelago Incanto

And sing old sea chanteys

with the ghosts of the oppressed.

Nobody realizes that they are so blessed

until you strip them and whip them...
"The secret of joy is the mastery of pain."

Said the goddess Anais Nin...

Damn such self-realization
It's probably considered a sin...