[also found in Galerius's Rocking Chair thread
written 4/7/11
reposted 4/16/11
Two Hypocrites
Father ̶ father you never write anymore
I receive letters not written in testimonial
just persona in personality, my trips
in sublime coaxed by coaxing agents,
men in black suits, cliché lines, I'm taught
by learned men and good moral teachers
but Father, my dear father I am
interpreting for you in corrupted conscience,
Father, I am artificial and ambitious,
living with a puppet’s wooden, iron heart, and a soul,
vindictive against soil and life. Father do you see
I pretend at portraying and filling the contents of a page
with limestone colored lines modeled like life in a cage
a fucking disgrace, inspired off of a celibate
child’s desire for grandeur, and I
take pride in my attempts
to fling myself at life, and fail utterly, but I am a puppet boy
desiring to be real and I am fake
with no Eye for art and life, and
in your Eye I KNOW I will be never be good enough,
and I conspired Father, like that jackass Coyote in stories
stealing the fire-stick from the god’s stash for hemp,
I stole away the Eye
from the socket in your image
stuck it to my soul, my sun, Father
given birth in your Eye's image
and I have found my sun with your Eye, and I see life, I am flesh
The Eye-drops
to paint Iris
on the way to Heaven
are staring at my sun, and
I see a planet of sheep, not humans,
and you'd think my sun saw the herders and sheep,
praying kneeling for Third Coming of my sun
and I gave them the Eye, my Eye, and shared my sun
in the Third Coming
down my waist as ecstasy released
“I am free, I am freedom, submit to my sun!”
and the words filled mate espresso and eucharist cups,
fueling fatalistic obsessions of death worship, an addiction
across time, I sought to leave my shit as an imprint
filling the food of a million billion children with shit,
and coloring the folds in sheets between thrusting hips
a beige and brown vomit. “Woe not! none are lost, my sun accepts all
and bends with my Eye,” so I declared and shrieked until
vocal cords and eyes creatively inclined were drunk and split,
buried under a mad eternity's obsession forever and ever, love of my sun
painted in deception of the castration of Father, as Kronos did Ouranos
like a cheap male prostitute in an everyday fling, a tip left for a thrill,
I castrated the eternal Father with my Eye across the world
and in my sun I see to, my sun did nothing, cared not, spoke nothing
remained dormant for a thousand years more to write poetry and feast on sacrifice,
and the sun of my Eye set, and I saw a world of
sheep sacrificed, saving
cities and cities,
as Iris's message
colored Heaven red
on crimson river sticks reaching to sky from earth
a waterfall of blood repelled from the dirt, swirling to a whirlpool,
spinning like a circle of hipsters and hippies around apathetic Olympics,
and my sun did not hear my Eye, and the falcon left its stoop from my arm
to journey again deaf, howling “Nevermore! Who mourns for Adonis?!” in a voice
like a gorgon whose head is cut off, and I cried on my flesh, felt my Eye quiver.
My Father did you watch then in my darkest hour? My sun, father lies quiet, my sun now
dormant upon my flesh's life, when I left my home in your care, when I desired to live
beyond wooden sticks and metal cogs and I stole your Eye
to see with your sight, and still you do not write to me
I am always writing to myself,
when I want reassurance
of your love
and in chaos amongst a thousand baws and bleets
my sheep, the sheep, consumed sheep and shepherd
I had failed gloriously, lacked honesty in execution of
my Father's image, and misheard his only words “We shall meet again
in a place where there is no darkness” as the meaning of flesh,
and I had been blinded with an Eye that was not mine,
lost my sun in ambition, a hypocrite
leading a world of sheep to consume themselves and I could do nothing but marvel
in my failure, failure in omen and apocalypse
natural events as consequence of action to reaction
I could not hear my sun, fallen quiet in my folly
I was a boy in wolf's skin, a false god
immolating in self pity
O' Melpomene ̶
where have you gone for an eon,
gone from my days of innocence, I was flawed then as I am now,
but happy in ignorance, solemn in rage! Stupid with mercy and selfish with selflessness!
I had loved innocently taking pride in pennies
shoved in my ass when I thought love meant
I gave nothing, took everything
and now my Eye lies, too set on lying
to sleep in dreams, to escape from a reality I wished for myself
and I cannot escape because I believe I am enlightened,
but each night I dream I have learned nothing, have nothing,
taken everything that is not a puppet's to take
and would lose myself in flesh
Godot I-
my Father has not come for me
as the world I see in his Eye, as things fall apart,
I am lost, my home in a castle constructed on
a foundation of cockroaches rotting and born again
speaking a million tongues flayed, splayed, split and
inciting a maddening rumbling in my mind, as my exercise in ambition fails
for want of a nail, for want of an Eye to live again,
and my home burned for insurance to save face
a feeble exercise in free will, freedom when I have none, can have none
and no one would pay a deductible for my excuse of a soul, and I
collected nothing, my sun cast disapproval in my weakness, but remained silent
as my Father's winged repo-men assessed that
a sycophant's wasting ambitious
Eye had done their job quite well,
and my cost for theft in drinking from the Holy Grail to be
judged and tried, held in limbo
and my sun in punishment sealed shut my Eye
and my sun in justice demanded I wander, blinding me,
and my sun said nothing but rend soul from soul
stripping a slate clean like a mad habit's twitch
scraping clean the lines of lines and sniff snuffing out to a
deadness in sensation, horror in sublime showing my dead Eye
I was taught and am breathing like nightingale's cooing, a
beautifying syrup to be eaten by literati gentry
over fireside as conversational rhetoric and country club logic,
a statistic to assess my sun, I am lost Godot I
am made dumb and numb from my sun's silence
who showed me resurrection in flesh in the lies of a gospel,
but I am not the gospel: carcinogenic arsenic tapioca fed mouthful after mouthful,
I am addicted I am addicted forgive me my sins, it means nothing to me, but
lies atop lies, I must have them in my Eye, but my sun my soul has blinded me
for I have blinded my father and become a hypocrite in his image, true to his meaning,
My sun! relinquish my Eye between
Rome and America and China, release me from guilt
and I moaned
“I am afraid to create without you Father, their eyes will crucify me!”
and cried “Why have you forsaken me my sun, my love
it was I who gave you everything!”
and my sun flared, burnt flesh on bone
like the popcorn I crave when my craving is famished
pricking fumbling scratching nails on bone through skin
and my sun threatened an early grave, repulsed at my frailty
and instead stripped my name and removed my skin, stripped my flesh for me
My son
I weep for you, forgive me
my insolence,
I left you my Eye, now
see the hypocrite, strip me down
and in my sinews and muscle and nerves
exposed to the air like a science fair exhibit
I am flawed my son, ashamed to confront children
that make me greater than I am,
am and was always artificial, an immortal undead
in my Eye reclaimed, just another story spun from your imagination
my son do not stay silent, sentence not yourself, but me to hypocrite,
color my death by forgetting me, lose faith in the old days
and burn away memories, return to your mother who has never left
and be reborn, exiled from home forevermore
to wander after love that I cannot provide
I am my Eye dying, watching my sun consume a world of sheep
I cannot hope to describe in letters never written by my hand
Eyes opening, eyes closing
order order order order order
searching searching searching lost,
It's not order in my soul,
I am chaos, abandon my name
I have lost my sons and daughters
I have killed my father
I am a puppet boy hypocrite, I am
Boy Pinocchio emulating life,
and I am not a poet, there is no poet
just a convergence to a point
where all things collide
