I broke my own eyesight with St. Patricks closed fist
in a bar fight with the boyfriend of my first Kiss Me I’m Irish
I might have layed on the accent a little
Talked with more than a little flair
But In love and war and drunk girls on Exhibition street
All’s fair, so I got beat fair and blue and white
You should have seen the other guys from this side of the bar(s)
Atheism
Morse code through the ocean
I took a handful of loose change, nuts, screws, bolts
scrap wiring and 12 volt batteries,
constructed myself a transmitter which plugged directly
into my radio heart to send Morse code through the ocean
with hope that eventually the pings would reach those souls
lost at sea, as I am
clinging hopelessly to their orange inflatable life raft
with the instructions, ironically printed on the inside
Reading “In case of emergency:
Grab your photo albums, baby clothes and awards
pack the past into boxes and move in a calm, orderly fashion
to the exits, indicated by the lights
at either end of this tunnel,
in case of friendly fire
keep low and cover your mouth, closing all doors behind you
as you make your way to the designated assembly area
at the center of the pacific.”
We make plans and have contingencies to handle
all sorts of emergencies, broadcast step-by-step
solutions and 12-step systems,
but sometimes
when you’re sinking on the capsized bow of your driftwood ship
clutching at straws like phantom limbs
it’s hard for your screams to swim.
Requiem Aeternam Deo
Clouds terrace up from the horizon, I’m on
the ground looking up to get a new perspective on ’em
So sick of altitude fogging up my platitudes
making simple statements seem like I’ve been complimenting you
“heaven sent” “forgiveness” and “of the virtuous”
Altruism too absurd to be an act by any one of us
7 billion others hesitant to question their existence
but never falter when it comes a time to throw a closed fist
Hail Mary, Hail Mary, Hail Mary, Hail Caesar
Thumbs up or down, almighty geezer?
We break down the pillars and crumble the alters
that once held our glory so high out of reach
The marching of progress and faltering silence
as night closes in but we pierce it with speech
“God is dead
And we are the ones that killed him
so rest your head
on these collapsing buildings
there’s not much left here
only omnipotence decomposing in this tomb
we call a church”
We are the forsaken, guilt ridden
horses to the stream
No redemption awaits
fill up your blackened lungs and scream
speak
“God is dead and we are the ones who killed him”
so drown your books, that they may benefit your children
there’s not much left here, only figureheads
and shit
in this mausoleum
and its pulpit
Highschool bullshit 