The old claw drags on the hawbag of life,
Like it always has, and nothingness matters as much as anything.
The anguish well beneath the surface
Veiled behind the fragile lies of our institutionalization
Wants to consume us
The letters of our alphabet can't hide the truth much longer,
and we will enter a new epoch.
As cyclones, earthquakes, and tornados savage the surface of our globe
The idiots of the apocalypse rejoice in the corners
Awaiting their own demise with the vain optimism of resurrection.
Hope lies in little old grannies on rollerblades
Wearing purple hats rolling down Venice beach.
Their Kingdom has already come.
Morning whispers again.
Enlightenment in a stuffed American face,
Fat on the belly, and calories to burn.
There is nothing really happening.
Stuffed, drunk, and smoking, we all wake up dead.
The Hunter strikes, and ever loves us all.
Aloha