Sacred Palace Of Exile

Sacred palace of exile
Commute the sentence of our dear brothers and sisters
Forgotten POWs lost in the creaking timbered trenches
Of so many psychic wars
Their lux braille madness shining beneath the soft, analgesic distraction
Of their medicated smiles
Encourage them to breech your fortressed walls with seminal excitement
And incessantly initiate rape upon uninvited party guests
Rife with risqué righteousness and ripe beyond redeemable mention

There will always be critics
There will always be those who relish with a reckless proclivity
The right to speak and express freely
Their mouths afoot plodding latent pontifications
In heavy ponderance of majestic afterthoughts
And exacting their entitlement to idiocy fought for so ardently
On disastrous shores of feigned foreign promises
Reciting hypocrisy is not the only way of dying with your boots on
But it seems to be a rather ginger way of smothering the details

Her inquisitive, commercial love was no match for his battalion of silences
And she would weep, weep over the fact that he could be so cruel sometimes
His surly composure and duck-billed grin protruding outward
Like a presumptuous invitation built to bilk her fastidious desire
“Come,” it would entice, “come and challenge the demons that bide their time
Waiting underneath the cold and calculating embers of this seductive torment
Remnants of a mischievous fornication – so curious, these burdens of bedlam”

In the strange dawn of dreaming a new birth awakens
A crumbling aftermath of former suppressions now pressed into
Consolidated corrosion, diluted (by gum) from the finer manifestations
Conscientiously distilled from the one who blathers too many a loose screw
And drinks too much with too less scruples
I miss the days just before the Internet struck gold
When we knew how to communicate properly and w/ authority

Forgive us, ManMadeMonstrosity, for we know exactly what we do
In the confession booths of our embarrassment do we pretend to pray
For the blasphemous way the wicked world rotates
… and they still say we want a revolvolution
Believe when we say we’re too tired of all that
… enough of that crap
Enough of salvation and predestined, pedophilic divination
In the dark wells of our confessions lay our penniless virginities
Paid the price to cover costs, the quest we once pursued now lost
Quixote for your thoughts, your thoughts, Au revoir! To thee I sing

So many of us on this sphere, the billions rotting atmosphere
I taste the dead with every flick my split-forked tongue doth make
But even them more friends they know … I have myself no confidants
Abomination from me flows and purges all my ill-kept secrets

My phosphorescent everything I once was then and now am not
Again, I’ve lost the holy plot – again I’ve lost what’s dear to me
Who’ll set us free? A trinity? A man with tablets in his hand?
A boy who sat beneath a tree and in a breath achieved dhyana?
We were not born for death beyond the unexpected twist of penance
Like fish do squirm for drops of salience, so do we too invoke atonement
Infirmary, the cold blood leech of evermore adorns the floor
Exploring cracks of choking change, asphyxiating boasting severance

It’s easy to adore the lovely – the perfect body, perfect hair
But I prefer the souls less spotless, the soiled, unhinged and destitute
The brokenhearted make fine lovers; their helpless hope still holds on to
O Fortitude! What have you done for us that we can’t do ourselves?
So vandalize your childhood homes and drench your names in senile benzene
Strike the match and scorch aborted pasts that were not born to last

Behind the wheel I jockeyed for what one might call arcane position
Tore rear-view mirrors from their perches and sentenced all restraint to death
Headfirst and steely-eyed I drove until the centerline – a blur
Put the pedal down to make good time and ran over people I loved.