By M.D. Ward
Nowhere to run to baby no place to hide
Nowhere to
run to baby no place to hide. Just a cup of hemlock and a
bone on loan. Pick your moment or it will pick and shovel you. Hey
diddle diddle the cats in the middle hiding under the tub next door.
The towers of Babalon have crumbled and crushed the future of freedom.
Now Everyone is the Enemy. Mirror Mirror. Who is the Wicker. The
man
has no plan. I still live. For another day. The flicking of a light
bulb. The safe slow death. Let the heros fly into the sun. Crispy
Critters. The black cloak of winter covers the stars in eternal night.
The pale horseman rides a ghost thru the ciders and snow. He gathers
the bones and decends to the pit. He feeds Cerberus who sucks the marrow
of the dead and the Gates swing open. Afterlife is After life. Now
is
ythe time of Limbo. Rock and Roll Sisyphis. m
A Vincent to go
You can't hear the flowers cry.
Vincent did and put a bullet thru his
brain. there are those who go under the world and those that sit on
crystal mountain tops. I remain in the middle in limbo with vultures
chewing on my liver. Would that they pluck out my eyes. I am a chain
clinging to a rock in space. It is wisdom to remain still and be eaten
alive piece after piece as all things are devoured in the maw of time.
Sunflowers sucked dry by the orange sun droop and die. If you had
Vincent's ear you could hear them cry. Sliced down by the beast in the
black forest of life. And the sparrows land and hop like tiny toys as
an old man tosses manna and the sky breaks down in tears. He didnt have
to kill himself. But the God's were hungry for beauty. And the
God's
never wait. M
Dogs of War
I have seen the dogs of war leer like swine and slaughter old and young
woman, some with infants, naked in the blood red snow. How does one
forgive? An army of cowards. As all armys are. Uniformed monsters from
the beginning of time. How can any of them sleep with such bloody souls.
To do such a thing. " We were Only following Orders" They only proved
that god is dead. What god could stand their smell. What river could
ever wash away such shame. From the very pit of my being I hope there is
a hell. If not, then justice is a dream and the devil is God. M
Still Born
High in his cave smoking chains of dreams he conjures wings and soars
circles round the bloodshot moon and beryl stars he is so far from here
and yet a weight like lead lumps his bed and fills his head with raven
night. Bones Mulligan made his way out into the jungle steets and rats
and men trembled in his wake. He was born without a soul. He knew
not
love or mercy. He was born in an alley in the bleeding snow and left in
a garbage can to die. Found by a sanitation man he was placed in
various youth houses and orphanages until he was old enough for the
army. There he learned how to kill. Without a blink he slit a
throat
and stared into their eyes as they fade away. When he got back to the
states he knew what he was born to do. He made a good living as a
buttonman for the mob. He was a specialist. He'd slice them and
dice
them, He'd strain them and drain them, He'd wack them and crack them,
then powder their bones. M
Writer’s Block
Hemingway's
octopus finger round a shotgun trigger squeezes ink and
sinks into black oblivion as bone and flesh disintegrate and the bulls
of barselona dance and the sea forgets. Now a bell tolls iron sleep.
Papa blew his brains out. All his phony wars were over. He looked
inside and there were No More Words. Words of war words of life words
of pain. He saw as thru a crystal. They were all lies. Rotten
blood,
black as ink, pounded in his head. Just a final long hard suck and
it
was over. He didn’t even hear the thunder. M
Woman
What can I
say about woman. There are so many fish in the sea. Some are
dolphins some are bottomfeeders. Some are mermaids some are barracudas.
The man in the moon is a woman. Sirens snakes mother earth silent
dreams hope and tears. Im in a garden filled with beautiful woman.
A
garden located south of my cranium in the center of my being. There are
black orchids dancing in the dusk of the setting sun. pink nymphs loll
by a waterfall naked as newborn angels. Three blue eyed goddesses cover
me with stars as I sink into the grotto of night. They kneel at my
feet. I bid them rise. They enter me by osmosis. The moon
flushes
blood red envy and turns into cheese. M
Selfish…that worm
You are
taught that to be selfish is bad. And you swallowed that worm...
Hook, line and Sinker. Selfishness is Generosity to Oneself! You only
have this tiny bit of time here. Take good care of yourself first.
All
you have to offer anyone is yourself. Be as fat as you can. No one
ever likes a skinny saint. They beg too much.
Hard Clay
Where's the bread? here comes the baloney. Is it so hard to see the
truth. What is it? Just because something is true dosen't make it
Interesting. I don't really try. I find it wiser to lie. It may be
kindness or just common sense but to tell the truth in a White Hat is
begging for the noose. The Whole Yin Yang spins like a crooked wheel in
a casino full of one arm bandits. It means so little to me. I seem to
have given up. I really don't know anything. So I guess Ill just
sit
this life out. There is no place I want to go. I got everything I
need
where I am. It's just that I have no desire. I’m more than a half
century old and the ground is rising fast. I sit here in a state of
petrification like a stone buddha in the corner of a crowded pawn shop
collecting dust. I wish I could sing a happier song but I can only lie
so well. The day may come when I will rise. The day may come yet, to my
surprise. But me no think so. I am set like cement in my ways. What
would it take to break this trance? A dance in the dark. A spark in the
heart. A Starting Post. A Silver Trumpet. A Finish Line. M
Forget it
The sandman never sleeps and rumbles down the midnight streets cracking
his bones and lifting that bale and waitin’ for the judgment day for his
pay. Who is living the life they should. Even Elvis had the blues.
Pain is boss. Pain is the motivator. No Pain, No Movement. If it works
dont fix it. But does it work? No. There has to be something
else.
Says Who? Says Life. Life is Strife. It is a counting down.
So
fucking what. The only way out from under the bottomless pit is up. You
just got to give up. You can't fight the flood. Drops of rain in the
sun. become unimportant become the wave and the leaf disappear in the
sea and the wind disintergrate disolve into the great maw black holy
belly filled with bones. Big dogs eat little dogs with relish. Light of
jesus lamb of hope my cat eye shine green serene beams in the dark of a
tiny world and makes his rounds about my haunts like black mars on
snowhite feet. and then he sits upon my desk and stares stillettos at
his keeper. Like a little pimp he plays with mice and men and
string.