Autism War

Autism is the next phase of
the mind's war on civilization,
our next phase in battle for
true freedom--
to find that which cannot
be medicated, doped up, to
find that which cannot be
denied--
the schitzo cure didn't work,
didn't last long, this is upping
the ante, this is battle plan 2.0,
this might be the final go--

sink the mind or
free the mind
from this terrible shit from
this propaganda shit, from
this black hole brainwash shit,
remake the body's functionality,
retake the body's functions,
set us back on nature's path,

this is the nuke that
can save us

this is the dream put to work,
delineating slowly what
invisible insidious tether holds us in place
an enemy promoted by scientific fronts,
by it's own arrogance, insanity consciousness idea
magic of evolutionary societal time,

Autism is the great revolutionary
of our day,
a link to the collective mind

soon it will spread & take us all--
that's why they're so afraid--soon
pharmacological-sociological-structural-
military-industrial-healthcare-complex
will be consumed,

imagine billions and billions cured
instead of billions and billions served,

imagine a complete break from the current dream
imagine freedom within reach..

Remember that time I pissed in the soda machine?

All the pretty failures
laid to rest--
it's thanksgiving in
the war night for the turkey
in the desert-- horizon seeker--
mining the fields day and
night "if only some rain would come"--
wipes sweat from brow--
in the projection farmland,
a singular shape of overalls
and old slouch hat--"then
we could eat and eat good"
--or they'd grow--the stalks--
long and tall and frighteningly
beautiful--like we're told to
imagine war is--the crooked righteous
cause for saints and martyrs
and kissing booth fools--
all the pretty failures
rising up to meet us--
toothless eyeless howling
grinning starving scratching
mass grave digging hysteria--
all the pretty failures
stretching back infinitum out
to entropy--engulfing the history of earth space
pure godly intimate loving barbaric bucolic civilized
smelling of death's hands--

all the pretty failures buried underfoot
waiting to grow.

My Friend

The sweet wine,
neck of the bottle between
my fingers, crystals
of ice, slowly dying
circles below my wrist,

A drowsy morning night,
coming to its end,
Jimi Hendrix
bleeds in and out behind me,
he is dying, like the ice
he is always dying,

And you are there,
almost my friend
There, here, gone
to war, to fighting,
to dying,

I drift in and out of consciousness,
his guitar calling me back
for another sip, the warm morning light
acting a play performed by swirling
beads of water,
when the night begins
it is already at its end,

Jimi Hendrix,
me,
you,
my friend.