My Good Spirit of empathy, compassion, forgiveness, love and understanding,
is forced back when the Bad Spirit moves to the forefront.
I walk amongst the beautiful litter, a moment's trend of sanctimonious trash,
sunlight reflecting off tinfoil in the alley,
youth chasing the smoke and mirrors of dragon's breath,
gigantic slabs of flesh and grease lumbering along,
stuffing holes with more gigantic slabs of flesh and grease....
....and I think through the tongues of the Bad Spirit,
"Am I a star-too-far trapped within the flesh of a skinwalker?"
At that precise moment, I lower myself beneath the beautiful litter,
beneath the festering rubbish,
as a hateful, despicable Bishop of rage and despondency.
It's not them and me
Smash glass houses and people will continue imagining glass walls
to be(not to be)still climbing,
so throwing stones won't accomplish much anyway.
But but but but the Great Mother is choking on the beautiful litter,
much quicker than predicted,
and Old Raven doesn't fly on broomsticks and pentagrams,
for Old Raven has always had wings.
Stupid huemans. Stupid you. Stupid me.
must break free from this global American dream,
because it isn't a dream at all, but instead, a nightmare
cloaked in sugar plums and fairies cutting tongues on razor-edged incisors.
_____ you, American dream.
-We- must break free from the hypodermic urges of the beautiful litter,
for fool's gold glitters, yeah, for fool's gold glitters.
With the last 22 grams of the Good Spirit remaining in my heart,
with the last coherent feeling remaining in my bleeding heart,
I hope that when I exhale my final breath, a loved one is there to catch it,
I hope to be miles away from the hell.icopters, false idols, empty eyes and neon lights
and the beautiful litter,
the beautiful litter.
June 13th, 2012