By M.D. Ward
dead man talking
Can't you feel it. The cookie mumbles to the crumbs. The pope's on
dope and delivers us from evil. So be it. The herd has heard enough.
So it's rally round the flagpole for a final dance before the jig is up.
Hey ho whadayano Whoops poop Crash! Subways are for Sardines. And the streets of the city are clogged with steel coffins on wheels searching
like gypsy's for a place to rest. Fat Chance. It would be easier to
find a parking place in hell. The powers that be are not for ye. So say
the powers that be. I say Stuff the Power's. I say ask not what you
can do for the power's, I say What the Hell is going on Here!!! When you
can't find a place to park your mind. When the hour of the witch is the
only time of peace. In the monocle eye of pluto the moon waxes
brilliant and diamond hard. In the cold round mirror he watches while
the world turns. Serene as Death. Then the silence is shattered by the
blaring sun and the rats begin their race to run. Red light, Green
light, Hurry up and Wait. The market ticks like a murderers heart at
the last supper. On Wall St. dead men walk the plank. And under the
glare of fire they rain. Falling like pigeons from the crowded ledges.
Hey ho whatdaya know, Whoops Poop Crash!!! M.
[written 6th of May, 2001, four months prior to 9/11]]
This World we live in...and you my friends, so many so long gone. So
badly understood and loved. This World we die in...and you my
friends.... So few still here. This planet is a rolling morgue. Roll on
Big River, Roll on. The boatman is a Merry Andrew dressed in black with
silver bells on his redskullcap. Place a penny in his fist and he'll
take you on a ride down a river of Sticks to where Yesterday is Forever
and Tomorrow is Never. And what a Yesterday it will be. When All you
ever Loved and Lost you see. Waiting in a purple garden on the other
side. Where dreams long dead spring full alive and far more beautiful
than dreams ever remembered. M
This be the Paradox. The inability to move forward. The betrayal of
ones own heart. Abandonment by the Abandoned. Lost Old Children.
Already Ghosts. Pale and Sad. Motherless, Brotherless, Sisterless,
Otherless, An Army of vacant souls stepping all over each others feet.
The Spirit of Gravity is more crushing than the Law. What matters Love
if it can't save. What matters Time if it can't heal. WHAT MATTERS IS ART.
well, we might as well get on with it
Jumpin Butterballs!!! It's so funny, I could cry. The worlds been hit
with a stupid stick. Smack between it's collective cheeks, shocked
awake by a Coney Island rumpelstiltskin with a face of a frog and the
manners of an inbred pygmy. It may be true that kindness is weakness.
Does that imply, cruelty is strength? The more time I spend with
humanity, the more I miss my dog. The blacks hate the whites, the left
hates the right, the great hate the small, and the small hate us all.
Six lions feasting on the life of a wilderbeast whose eyes bleed pain in
the dry dust of nowhere no time. The Lions eat, the Vultures eat, the
Maggots eat. At the bottom of the grisly chain waits the Emperor Worm.
The last to sup is the winner. What a silly world. You can dance with
the devil, but don't turn around. And the high hates the low, and the
sun melts the snow, and a breeze from the trees breathes diaphanous
dreams, diaphanous and softer than the bluest rain. There's a light in
the Forest, It had better be You.!!! As the time slides astray and slips
away like dead leafs in the wind. Happy to be dead. Dead at last. Is
it such a crime? Is it such a terrible ingratitude? Dead leafs
swirling like children in the wind. Dead leafs burning, burning,
intoxicate me mama, Dead leafs burning, Cinders in my eyes, on this grey November morn. November sleeps and dreams. November Stands and Waits.Novembers in between, November is the Gate. The Pearly Early Gate of Paradise, Or the Black Night of the Soul. A Threeheaded Hell Houndguards that gate. He remembers me. He will lick my hand. I will bring a sop for Cerberus. Kinder than the Lions and Vultures and the Maggots. Greater than the Emperor Worm. My Shadow, My Shade, as I float down the Glade, away from the glareing bone dry sun, Has palmed a gold coin and placed two silver ones on my eyes. Ferryman ferry me away from here. Drown me in the River Lethe, Wash Away My Soul. Rain Nepenthe purple blooms like stars falling into the sun. Am I the only one? How sweet it is, To be sans skin, and bone, A casket for your fear. no longer here, Truly Gone Man!!! A second thru the door, and then, Oblivion My Home. Fear of the inevitable is the hell of the living. Death is Clean. Death is Sure, Death is the end of the pain. DEATH IS THE DEATH OF FEAR. Melt like a snowflake, turn into Mist. Thru a prism of stained glass tears streams the final Light. Goodnight, Farewell, I see you in Heaven, or Ill see you in Hell, In any case, don't ask for Whom the Bell Knells, If you can't hear it, it was for You. Time is shrinking. Days are turning into seconds. M
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