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Thursday, February 10, 2011

The Truth About Speedballs




The Truth About Speedballs


dreams like this so hot and fertile, so convincing

that they are dreams, so conniving when they are exposed

for the lies they are and how deep they lie in our hearts

we convince ourselves it is somehow sexy, playful fun

we are tired of all that is going down, all that is being done

to us about us for us to us some more


lying across fields of poppies with scarred bulbs

while dreams of llamas pulling bundles of coca leaf

through the winding Inca trails of the Andes

two great lies start as simple truth in the beginning

two reasons the truth becomes twisted from vein to lung

to heart to mind to soul to mouths that speak it

to eyes that give it away with such sad beauty


defensive retorts come forth flaring through nostrils

smoked out through lungs shot out through blood filled rigs

as the dragon's tail twists it's way up the final spinal staircase

sinking in deep with needle point teeth

to intertwine inside the Andean allkaloid's

nest of unrest and helicopter disturbance

like the stomping of a billion spider legs

underneath itchy skin-covered meat monkeys

as sock covered feet become drenched cottons

in silver spoon shoes heated by flames of uncontrolled desires

becoming lies that burn lives beyond recognition

because it feels so powerful bad it seems like the only good

we might know as we lie down with it coiled up inside of us

dreaming of peaceful war like turmoil might set us free

while real peace and serenity run away from us

like frightened rabbits run down holes away from a hope

we let go of in silence as we cry "help!" with scratched vocal chords

too often or too late to ever let go completely of a synthetic umbilical

that has become a noose around our life we call no home

as we are always so desperate for a home

as the psychotic break tears away more and more

until we are owned by fields of poppies with scarred bulbs and baskets

of coca leaves that slide down steep hillsides into kerosene and lye

thrown into vats of hydrochloric acid baths that dissolve the natural bond

to begin forming into the pasty, sticky chains of tar with no feathers

that bind us fast to the lies we tell ourselves over and over

so the lies we tell those who love us seem real enough

to buy one last moment in the bathroom alone


it all rages down corridors of blood patterns screaming out for more

taking with impunity everything you got while playing out

peanut butter cup commercial jingles all the way home

two great tastes in one bent spoon lie that never tells on itself

until it is too late, never gives up until it is too much

you would save yourself if you could, but this shot

is just maintenance until the next round

sometimes you are knocked out

before you ever hear a bell

even though bells are all

you ever listen for


I used to lie to myself

thinking that was heaven

nitrogen jaguars patrolling

my bloodstream

hunting down the last of my of

my oxygen as if it was easy rabbit prey


I have to remember

I was never cured of lying

to myself

or anyone else

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