The Witching Hour Waking

From the depths of sleep the watchers

won't be denied

sifting dreams, seeing whyfore art thou

down deep and personal

get up now, Witness

it's shadowplay time

the richness of distance

steps into the dancehall

barefoot and more magical than ever

that smile a beacon

eyeflash downturn magnetic

a hand on your mind

calls your awakening

the end of darkness awaits your view

until you really know that deep long hour alone

over and over and over again

your day forever comes

here lies the sage and salt of inner magic

where the nests of vipers go rolling in twisting balls

down the flooding river beds away from here

the birds are singing up the morning

where the fridge is moved away from the wall

the melting sway of a mass exodus

cockroach metropolis

screaming in the light to scatter

writhing like the corpse eating fly babies

exposed to a searing light

the gods of mount vesuvius were right

baby skeletons in the roman bath house sewers prove it

didn't you hear

the bones of child prostitutes covered

in holes from a lifetime syphillis born work

gotta love the soldiers and the drunks

or starve

so lovely, pet, the way you left without

checking back in

on the left behind

in known obscenity obscurae

living with abandon

we both know why you ran away

better you'd stayed gone

outside the nets of rotting influences

but like calls to like

for someone else to find

years away in peace

from all of it

allowing wasted effort building the false case

campaigning for your next gang bang

teaching the children ill

a known false ally from the beginning

in absentia

the cracks get deeper

all by themselves

when new things are born

open wide

gather up the light to

shine on all that slime

dry it up into the good cracklins

blow the dust of that fake porn orgasm life

and the slaving wife

down the windsweep of the mountainside

let it land that river and gone

make it small, the inauthenticity

once you knew the difference, too

or were a better actor then

rewrite the story of island paradise

for your white friends

the tragic version

something flies around you a hauntin'

when you realize you've cursed yourself

pointing that finger

because the dead know better

and the living are outnumbered

no one is ever more offended

than those seeking the throne of victim/tyrant

unable to see that gauche low ambition

is permanently the common seating area

(curs grovel best, no one is blind for your sake)

we've tasted the flavor of that conversation

the advantages of invisibility

are wondrous and terrible

mercy is misplaced on you

we always knew anyway

the sky is cracking subtle brilliance

(run, the fridge is moving)

the fence you were riding

was an error of construction

from the beginning

begone, you have no power here