Where reality ends
And my dreams begin
In my dreams only the
dead
Walk the land; the
living long
Vacated the
killing-fields, so I’d
Recruit insomnia, and
fend off the
Pesky sleep, yet the
haunting would
Adapt and mutate to
infringe upon
My astir nightmares,
streaming
Holographic parodies
await
Me around each corner on
Every face I see,
tireless
From the very root of
The sun till the last
Echo of moonlight
Last night the demon’s
lullaby
Hushed me to sleep,
suddenly I’d
Be on the lam, fleeing
fast as I can
But the faster I ran the
further yet I
Descend the vertigo;
tiptoed past the
Synthetic flesh for
fantasy concession
Stand, swift to dodge
the cyber pimp
In elevator pumps, lent
empathy to
The enthusiastic bigot
trained to
Hate
Me, a shot of tequila
with
A perverted clergy,
profane to
Engage a devious witch
peddling
Dismembered critters for
more bad
Karma
Shared a Cuban stogy
with a triple
Breasted Dutch hooker
boasting
“The American Dream…”…
Tipped a derelict
homicidal seer with
The cynical roll of my
eye, and the razor
In my smile, as we
danced to the cadence
Of fallen tears and sang
hallelujah into
Dixie cups, onward to
pull the plug
On poor Johnny still in
uniform
With amputated parts,
recited
Godfather
Lines with an old pyzone
from
Around the way, crept
inside the
Sanctuary, sat next to
the sobbing
Sexual predator, and
watched the
Autobiography of a
sociopath
Sang harmony with
requiem
Choir at a funeral
services
For the song, toked some
Kronic
With the anxious new
Recruits; hyped up for
The drive-by initiations
Encouraged by the
narcissistic
Physicist who claimed to
count
The Fibonacci
spirals in one hand
Forever debunking
the fallacies of
Infinity; we’d defame
all life as
Merely a virus to be
treated
At last I’d reach the
amphitheatre
And attend the
orchestrated mockery
And slayed the self
proclaimed musician
At the scene of his
artless crime, it was
there
Just behind the neon
lights I found the gates
of
Valhalla
The jabrone embellished
as authority demanded
My claim to fame or, at
the very least my name
So reluctant I
surrendered my humble
identity
“I am a lyrical
assassin, my pen is my
sword
The butterfly with
hurricane wings, just a
Faceless prodigy with no
fame left to my
Name”
Sympathetically he
stepped back
To allow me in; shrieks
and pleas of
They shoot horses don’t
they?… never
Ceased, flat lined
patients begging for a
Jump start crowded the
halls, whilst the
Dysfunctional
Deceased flocked the
autopsy rooms; the
Suicide bombers flossed
the size of their
Nukes, anxious martyrs
sought virgins
Pulverized humanity
bitterly dragged
Their rotting corpses in
dire pursuit
Of vengeance across
morasses of
Hate; frantic I crept
below the
Searchlights to crawl in
an
Obsolete corner and
click
My
Heels together three
times:
“There’s
No place left to call
home”
