A tossed salad of art, poetry and ideas.
“An idea that is not dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea at all.”
— Oscar Wilde
From somewhere in the wilderness
a sledge hammer slaughter, unlawful
massacre of the daughters of justice;
hauling the slant-handled tools of malice,
verbal basting, thrashing the ignited glories wasting.
Slag busting, cattle rustling, between dreary echoes
and muted rainbows, decrying test-pattern indulgences
and platinum penitentiaries.
Sterile violence floods the altar
with opiated parasites in a ceremonial carnival
of discordant distractions.
Muffled bells chime in the secret chambers
where dead dreamers dance with unseeing eyes
midst palatial splendors.
Outside I remain, in the wilderness still,
renewing myself daily with my small portions of ecstasy.