Foul smelling flower

Colored with slime
a flower comes calling
having bargained
an eye for an eye
the savage turns a leaf
and starts slapping itself
with the wings of a housefly

Was roaming in the garden
burnt out stubs
strewn on the ground
hanging by the earring
came a pleasant face
flashing that smile
like a 30 second commercial break
whiffing with hot air
a chunk of meat said goodbye
while they went to blossom
busy with the stabbing
ignoring calls for freedom
in search of a rhythm
the savage licked his wounds
with his own venom

There are books
demanding for their cover
and lost children
wanting to be sucked back
into the wombs of their mother
for the savages roaming in the garden
the kicks come out
by sucking on to the
foul smelling flower

For the savage in the garden
colored with slime
a flower comes calling
shooting off its mouth
like a black dove
to spray the savage
with the disinfectant
called love

Out of line

Roaming in the empty space
not ready to pay the dues
hollowed but
chuckling out echoes
looking out
staring others out of their
own rooms
grinning faces smelling blood
inhaling the smell of
rotting flesh
close themselves up
before the slow moving words
catch up

was once something to show
and something to write
was the poetry called life
to dig up a meaning
reached out to
paint a picture
or sing a damn song
accused of soliciting
locked the door
chewing back on
all the words
that were said
leaving undigested all that
was left unsaid
winding down by
being hard pressed
and cheering now to
a constipated life
by crapping out lines
one line at a time

Push and Play

Kick the ball
draw no more lines
kick up the dust
kick it up
in your own eyes

Fuck 'em
who dropped the ball
when they were twenty seven
Fuck 'em
who will drop it
in the time to come

Load the guns
point it out to the marketmen
guarding their shops
you've never pimped your woman?

Layer by layer
peel off the defenses
with the defenses gone
the savage can sing his song

Kicking the ball
drawing no more lines
kicking up the dust
kicking it up
in your own eyes

Pass the buck
takes more than one
to play the game
turn left at every right
make space for
every wrong to stand
on its head

Kick kick kicking the ball

Blame it on the heads
blame it on the tails
when no one
owns it up
the right drugs will come
to settle the case

Kicking the ball
drawing no more lines
kicking up the dust
kicking it up
in your own eyes

Kicking the ball
wiping out all the lines
kick up the dust
kick it hard
before the ball gets
buried in the ground

Wheels on the Chair

Packed private clubs
with their musical chairs
and their music playing
a smoked turkey at the door
simmering over the fire
trying to pay them off
breathes to move in the space
but breathes out laughter
drilling down a hole
touching raw nerves of the
crux of their matter

Packed private clubs
with their musical chairs
when the music stops
while they are
sitting on their chairs
getting licked by their partners
facing their directions
lighting up their conversation
to spark off their revolutions
the turkey lights up a fire
running around patterning
in and out of the circles
unable to stop playing
with wheels fiddling in the pocket
shown the closed face
of the door
waits for the chair in silence

Peace Out

When the bombs have dropped
crunching its numbers
and getting it right
where every bullet fired
meets its mark
with or without style

When all the noise reaches its end
and when they have all stopped talking
having betrayed and
getting what they want
closing their eyes
sleeping in a
compromising position with peace
standing face to face
with the hidden laughter
behind the lies
unable to betray themselves
they'll be left exploding
exploding with their violence
exploding in front of their own eyes

When the mullah with his azan
halals every stretched out word
finishes creaming out his song
and the priest
not to be outdone by this race
races backwards to pack
5000 years in 5 lines
as the savage too cries and gets
once in a while
his share of free for all

When all the noise reaches its end
and when they have all stopped talking
having betrayed and
getting what they want
closing their eyes
sleeping in a
compromising position with peace
standing face to face
with the hidden laughter
behind the lies
unable to betray themselves
they'll be left exploding
exploding with their violence
exploding in front of their own eyes

The poets and the painters
extracting their juices
from the dead
fogging,blurring
shagging the moon
casting their shadows
over the stars,the light
even eternity has been commoditized
vainer than the vilest of jokers
waiting always for some dance to begin
not wanting their own lives
to hit a dead end

When all the noise reaches its end
and when they have all stopped talking
having betrayed and
getting what they want
closing their eyes
sleeping in a
compromising position with peace
standing face to face
with the hidden laughter
behind the lies
unable to betray themselves
they'll be left exploding
exploding with their violence
exploding in front of their own eyes