Moss Less Rocks, Rocks Less Moss

Inside a bouncy room
a limbless man soared,
shouting
"The money is in the treatment,
Never the cure."

Life tax is a heated deliberation
on the house floor.
Genetically modify at conception,
and cap life at 80 with no exception.
Breed out variety.
Grey is purity.

Not knowing life's origins
never stopping attempts at its redirection.
Coup of cosmic visions of perfection.
Fucking Gaia sans erection.
Screams heard as moans.
There are no shadows dark enough
to hide your face once its been shown.
You won't shake the lonely
after torching your home.

L.J. 3.22.2010

This House Is No Home

No anesthesia.
Just open me up.
Heart full of tar.
Lead lined guts.
I want to feel the pain as I slowly bleed out.
Biting at my tongue as they're sowing up my mouth.
Sometimes the my thoughts drown out the city.
Sometimes the city drowns my thoughts.
Sometimes the streets pulse through my veins.
Sometimes sitting on my stoop I am lost.
Kamikazing my worth with the stain of my deeds.
I dig moats around my prisons despite burning to be freed.
Screams silenced by sirens.
Yearning met by begging hands.
Bloody shoes and perspiring walls
impede the fallen's efforts to stand.
Hungry and broken.
No one hearing the calls.
We must take from this house.
All that gives are the walls.

Luke Judd 3.15.2010