Masterpiece

I see the world askew.

There’s a storm inside

my window,

inside my gemstone eyes.

There’s an army

in my fist,

fighting all my friends.

So, bring me splattered spoils

of a never-ending war.

With dead TVs

and Gucci suits,

I’m ready to inhale.

Hang my words

from tulips,

as I paint my masterpiece

underground,

with fragrant blood

and blasts of agent orange.

 

The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth

 

Look at them,

the tech support

scouring toxic waste.

Look at them,

the garbage men

hurling rocks at walls—

those monoliths of gloom.

Look at them, the surfer freaks

painting passports brown.

Look at them,

the little girls

with scree inside their guts,

following the law.

These are the meek,

these are the mild,

adrift in fallow fields.

But soon

they’ll crush the earth

like tyrants,

and speak in regal code.

They’ll blind the light,

scorch the fire,

and mute

the screaming stars.

 

New Phone, New Life

 

I buy a brand-new phone.

This time I’ll forge a ringtone

to shatter

rush hour traffic,

and electrify the rain.

I’ll hack a doomsday cult

and corrupt

online casinos.

I’ll take a candid selfie

and project it on the moon,

as spacecraft slowly drift.

The air up here is rancid,

the shops are sprayed

with fear,

and no one knows my name.

So, I’ll hollow out the earth,

where the skittish spiders prowl,

and call my dear mama.

Marines will dump their weapons;

gods will heed my prayers.

My phone’s a wireless siren,

leave an earthquake

at the tone.