A dark poem preceding brighter times. Don’t worry, love ensues.
In the Riverside Jungle of the Dispossessed
She don’t wanna go to rehab,
He doesn’t too,
Brutal domain as default curriculum,
Stoning a spring,
For the cabron drunkard there will never be an AA,
Only the colonization of the Americas,
Savage and faithless infamy,
Doctrine of the sorrowful damned.
Sorrowless rays of must,
A joy as given, a good day as taken,
A schooner down a slope,
Watching fermentation brew,
A skewed follower of selflessness, lost in doctrine, found in a evaporated practice mat of a kiss-away.
Lost bastard knocks on the wrong gate,
And ends at the wrong end of a pipe in free and soon-to-be West Virginia,
Reincarnated in tin foil, what once was bound for native blood,
Transfigured fatherhood gave it the wrong end of a wish,
The leader of an extinct tribe, now in the riverside jungle of the dispossessed, content with a fate, any fate, please!
A brother found in a routine self-love, I love him, but I never, ever sought self-loathing. I didn’t.
No friends across the stream, tax collectors everywhere.
Things are nice in that creek,
As muted screams die down,
The far-gone adventurer settles with dead-end infinite,
Revolving around a wall he can’t afford in that dreadful tent.
Speeding out to his maker,
Sending news back home,
There he is, profanity shut it,
Call out your wish,
And collapse all over the floor of this beautiful land of dark green and pouring spring-side shadow.
In every house, in every mind, in every talk-out,
The millennial nuisance, old as fuck would find a wordless grave,
In that sport mat across a tent.
Genuine friends would only seek when missing their own desire,
A tent-over, overdue, stumbling across when due,
With occupied love, a heart too bloody a pump,
For their old friend.