Ice Ice Baby




Of Babylon


We, my sleepless generation,
us whores of Babylon,
know nothing of an end
nothing of a beginning
nothing of an above or below.
We know sex is where we came from
and dead is where we’ll eventually go.
In Babylon we know of selfish passion
riding the beast’s back
7 times over,or sometimes 6 (6, 6).
We rip into earth’s loins
taking pleasure like candy.
breaking again and again bliss’es spine.
Maybe that’s why the strongest lust
is only the devil’s wine.
We whores of Babylon
see red, crimson thick as brick red,
love as hot as lava flowing
these days etirely too freely, destroying
our paths, igniting our desires.
Because we’ll all burn to death like this,
in life’s apocalpytic fires.

A State of Misconception

They call it Misery
I pronounce it Missouri
The difference is a slight
minor phonic misconception.

Miss, like our feelings toward summer
or MIzz, to match the Zou
show me, the state of flashing
of meth, and flowering dogwoods too.

The middle’s all the same, er,
humider, windier, cornfieldier
split, by our namesakes river-er

They say St.louis is dangerous,
country grammar and screaming eagles abound
KC as well, with the heat of the paseo
and concrete jungle downtown

In the West Chief indians battle war ready Rams
while our Royalties battle Cardinals
(too heavily populated in the East lands)

And I think we can all agree about the ee,
Scott Joplin rode our trains,  created ragtime
on the MKT, I very seriously doubt he thought this was misery

Stronghearting it

He said it was as though
reality wasn’t real
that the world, in fact,
hadn’t crashed down
that the storm hadn’t really
shaken their foundation
that her heart was, in fact,
still completely and fully in tact.

Well shit. Thank God.

He said that those monitors,
they weren’t even real
that the beeping and frantic tics
were imaginary
that the irregular beating in my chest
was, in fact, completely normal
that we were fine
every piece and part perfectly in line.

Damn. How lucky.

Then he said that our Time,
it wasn’t even real
that those clocks we kept close
were always broken
that the only ticking to ever
fully count on
is from the one that actually feels
undoubtedly and completely real.