God's addiction

And drugs are the only thing to eat for breakfast.

lately i can only respect my addiction, the lies
-- so much purer -- sounds of what my body
craves.

the outsider on the white side of denial
pleasure turning to status; looking
for others to dream excuses for the violence
that seeps through their teeth, drains
from their eyes as they fall back to sleep.

and i love the change and i am the change.
i see the strange citizens busy with coffee
in their veins, busy with fourteen hours
to practice that final and graceful death

busy covering death with boards
watching the light struggle through

busy with impatience. busy with nonsense
that looks terribly like all others' nonsense

busy sculpting themselves from the walls
painting a pretty picture to
pretend like when they fall.

words have no meaning, especially
ecstasy
you can't swallow them like pills
or people or money or:
this is everything i want you to believe
about me

hallucinogenic gods overcoming the syndrome

life has no edges, only colors and shapes
eyes and relations in a state of constant flux

humans are rules and exceptions and concepts
and artwork as god paints
everywhere, a little bit sick
to his stomach

and yours