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I AM THEM
And the sunsets gleamed of rusting iron,
Of long passed days and midnight rays.
Tungsten coated warriors
enwrapped in blue flame.
Flames of a memory.
For tables were now set with steel,
redolent of spice, pumpkin and rice
this green wood is hateful
to the hordes of peaceful men.
Who do not exist.
If they arrive here, they
will die.
And that will keep them from compromising
The safety.
Safety is not an issue, it is a concern
and I take care of that,
in it’s uselessness it spirals
into usefulness.
Through its nonsense
There arrives only sense.
Generated storms of night-mare potency
in (and of) this issue
but I am not concerned with that,
because it is not my concern.
Inmates dig holes with overused toothpicks
they complain, they are insane,
from thinking in rhyming verse.
Their complaints concern me not,
it is not
my concern.
I deal in people,
as some would deal
in money.
It matters not,
for they
are
the same.
Perhaps a bit weightier,
but when dragged and crushed
down,
they are the same.
Your complaints are not
my concern.
Conduits.
That’s what I call them
I am they.
The dreaming are the remembered ones.
Weaklings.
That’s what I call them.
I am one.
I am the ruling one.
Facilities are mocking,
In this slaveship
Upon these decks they labor.
And labor.
Endeavors are pointless,
In this slaveship.
Beneath the decks, I see vermin.
Abovedecks, scum.
There won’t be another day
To sing, and laugh, and see away
All these heroes that have gone.
Best to do it while they exist,
So that they too get the gist
Of what you may think of them.
Such sentimentality, meaningless shit
Reckon I, the slavemaster.
To they who complain and sing in verse,
And die slowly thereafter.
In this slaveship I am lord,
Affiliated with the suffering.
In the prison, I too am ruler
And it’s praise of me that they sing.
Certainly, it’s not all right
Being split in two and whatnot.
Makes everything quite a bit easier, though
…except I can’t sleep on only one cot.
Oneness is enough for you,
But why deny me the opportunity to be TWO?
Surely the experience would valuable indeed
And if it would return with a warning, you could take heed
Of it.
The visitor we expect, he shall arrive
In time for the real fun.
This gives us the time we need to prime
And so they toil away in the sun.
Remember, though, that they complain, they are insane
From thinking in rhyming verse.
But their complaints
Concern
Me
Not.
It is not my concern.
Your sentimentality is not
my concern.
And from up here,
Far above the waste
The fools
The trash
The offal
The pigs,
What I see
Concerns
Me
Not.
All is yet my concern.
When our world becomes theirs,
Where the lights reach death,
It is simple to posit that not a one cares-
It is felt in all but your last breath.
Therein lies the duality
Potent mix of realities,
Whereupon life is a passing thought.
I have yet saved the time for this:
We have prepared thus yet.
We will wait now.
Time is not
A concern.
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