Humans Are Now Old

Density of orchestral tones, Uilleann pipes, Stride along tense and undulant waves, Ripping the past into view. Heat lightening licks my peripheral, With each droplet of sweat from my forehead, As movies march on behind in speaker and mind. Tales of the pedophile, Who touched my father on daily basis. Touched my uncle to his death, Inspire the violence of mind inside of me. Inspiring signs of insurgency bubbling beneath bones unbroken by the basic battle of being. Anger forms in forms unknown to the past, Arising in ways new to the current courts. It burns me. It boils me. Simmers my rudimentary being whose angles chop words before they’re spoken. Cracked lightening barely speaks to that which rises in me. The hatred for all of it. The hatred for all of you. Who tarry on in useless self-imposed agony, Blaming others for the condition traded for your nothingness. Flames do nothing but shine light on that which deserves no sight. Deserves but memory for Thunder. If you only could see as I do, There’d be less of us then. Less eggs, Protruding from the heinous anus of hens. Genes no longer battle for better, but boil in a brisque of mediocre self-indulgence. Burping itself into itself. I see atoms’ wishes for separation, Wishing to tear apart and rip from above the soiled pile that has became its macrocosmos. Until then we’re in trouble, We’re in trash, Rubble bubble toiling in self-contained paste waiting to burst in seismic memory unknown to the future wary to linger afterwards.