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JLB Feb 2012
Accepting brute fact would permit
a sad
self-induced
mental castration.
JLB Jan 2012
The foundry is wet and frothy with felons like you.
They all say you’re not a bad guy, but your breath reeks of Grey Goose,
Your eyes are wild, and your morals are loose,
But I also hear that you have enough heart to share between two.
It wasn’t hard to tell the meager malignant magicians from the brutally bruised and the blue.
You always told me that was true.
Yet, I feel melancholy now that I’ve spoken with this lowly American middle class few.
I pray their sweat will count for something worth more than the products they produce.
Their dime will only go as far as a brick and a bottle of juice,
What will come of such men, I haven’t a clue.
JLB Jan 2012
Feeling weak.
Like I am the loser,
Because I care.
JLB Feb 2012
You'll never believe this
but,
I drank from God's flask the other day.

Yeah,
Convinced that it was half full
Of conscientiousness.
Of hope, or passion, or honesty,
or somethingworthgivingashitabout.
For it had once appeared to many,
A beautiful and grand canteen,
Forged of liquid silver.

And as I allowed the contents to inwardly surge,
I realized that it had plunged into the same carnal vessel
From whence it came,
And the lining of my body had been holding the ancient linings of other bodies,
Reincarnate.

Romantic,
If that's the way you wanna slice it.

But
There is a recipe for such rapture,
And it's been written on pages much less holy than the Bible--
On the coffee stained clipboards of chemists
And the meticulous manuscripts of mathematicians.
It's made out of the same **** that everything else is made of:
Out of the same force that makes you float when you sit in the dead sea,
Out of your body's sweat after a hard day's work,
Out of the blood in your veins.

Salt.
All of it, everything, everyone,
Salt.

Dissolved, crystallized, harvested, ingested,
Redissolved, recrystallized, and the cycle repeated.

— The End —