
Follow your inner moonlight; don't hide the madness.
Allen Ginsberg
steve a. manolis poet
Constants
in its own sad beauty, the perfection of the curb,
not even the rains of spring can wash the vomit
of this place, americafucking wasteland,
in my bottle i save my patriotism
rag soaked cocktails flying in the sky spangled glory
of another homeless night
why care, save for a few desolates,
teeth grinding against the swollen belly
shit-strewn is what we know
eating the genetically altered afterbirth
that you wanna call life
death is death and you cant alter it
instead you twist the umbilacle cord around the neck
toss what you want in the dumpster
who could care less, go ahead, wring your hands
afterall, you dont judge, you said so yourself
in the pews of easter slop and fine garbed blood soaked life
crap on the masses, they are the true children
hidden in the alleys digging through the gutted feast
fornicating with the maggots of one all-mighty
you'd rather draw lines in the sand, proclaim your soil
and stick a pole in it, but dont call it anything else
because you fear the names, the words, but in your head
your salvation isnt mine to decide.