Iowa. Prelude
to the lies. The cold pulse of
vermilion, eyeless
opium people,
nothing inside, memories
diluted, they wait
for everything left
behind—only prosthetics
keep the sulfur from
surfacing like a
metabolic blister. They
welcome the anthem,
they bleed gently for
the dead, tattered confessions
in a torn circle,
spit-out skin a black
nil of disaster. Only
the nameless name of
Gehenna exists
to liberate the hated
life of no life, the
duality of
three. Abortion, a butcher’s
hook, rising like a
dogfish virus, a
psychosocial scissors, the
killer maggots of
the new ticket. I
am a heretic. Snuff me
before I am gone,
before I’m quiet,
before I forget the shape
of vendetta. The
lies continue. Do
nothing. Keep away. One piece
ends it. Execute
all. Killing is all.
This is the bitchslap wherein
hope is a shit plague.
Tags: haiku, heavy metal, poetry, song titles
The Book of Haiku Revelation 