Unsuccesfully Coping with the Nonsense of Existence

 It has, YET AGAIN, been too long since I've managed to write anything at all. This one just sort of happened; like a car running over a tiny animal that seemed to have suddenly appeared in the middle of the road. I'm much too tired to explain anything or say anything relating to my current mental state. This poem is a mess, it's terrible, it's nonsensical, it is like all of the rest. Make of it what you will, because I haven't a clue. That is all. I hope I can sleep and stay asleep forevermore. 

Kalte Sternenkinder

Murder of angels

Rearranged and mutilated

Planetary surgical clamps 

Spreading open the chaotic center,

Unspooling celestial flesh 

Cascading down 

Amniotic staircases 

Stretching out through the necrotic wounds 

Scabbed over in space,

Through the threshold of once silent,

Primordial nonexistence,

Boiling and bulging with hideous new pregnancies 

From the molested, defiled cracks 

Lining the unfathomable depths 

Of the anemic ocean floor.

Something pale and bloodless 

Washes ashore,

Under a dreamless, scarred heaven,

First steps on this planet’s land

Out from the expanding gas cloud 

Of ageless decomposition

Crawls forth a newly orphaned cadaver 

Dancing in spastic, uncanny movements 

Swinging on pulpy puppet strings,

A perpetuating confusion of its form 

And its new mangled, purposeless life

Underneath a sardonically mocking 

Graveyard sky.

Umbral razor blades

Swiftly pulls, rips, and tears

At all the locked-jaw screaming faces

Surfacing the moon,

A disastrous astral bloodletting,

A nonsense ritual to siphon 

Churning, uncertain, falsely conscious darkness

From the long-dead stars 

Into the promised rot festering in our

Newly awakened bones.

There was never any possibility of control.

-

Unwantedly reanimated stillbirth

Caged behind a biogenetic silicon

And IV-operated iron maiden,

Through shining toothless gums

In between incomprehensible shrieks 

And bone-snapping convulsions,

Leaks heaving, veiny torrents 

Of great walls of meat,

Filling up all our empty oceans and menstrual pools

Of near-exploding collective consciousness

Where all human life

Shamefully preserves its existence

And conversely acts in the grand Guignol 

Of its eon long suicide.  

Even though the metal gridwork

Has long since rusted,

The iron maiden’s spikes dripping

With brand-new created infections,

Cage bars swelling with infinite decay,

Maggots of dead epochs and floods

Of plastic and microchips,

Future anxiety and past failures,

Crawling its way through child’s still unformed veins,

We all continue

Ignoring the sickness in the cosmos

The tortured monstrosity

We created.

Cycles upon cycles,

Circulating the

Cold

Dead

Star Child’s nightmare

That has imprisoned us all.

There’s no stopping;

Mindless procreation, 

Suffocating skyscrapers,

Industrial fountains of waste, 

Engineered animals in tortuous demise,

Children’s mangled hearts

Leaking at the end of a machine gun,

Surging apocalyptic technology revolution,

Nonsensical messages never sent, 

Continents swallowed in atomic napalm clouds,

Brain matter painting white picket fences,

And all the deranged ignored ones

Slicing their wrists on flowered shards of glass

From the collapsing, overstuffed asylum

Given away to the syrupy nonsense of time. 

The highway lies bleeding into an ugly haze,

Every motel forever on fire,

New Mexican sands erupted in technicolor mushroom clouds,

And at the moment of another 

Ressurected miscarriage,

A time-warped bullet makes its way

Through JFK’s

Star-speckled head...

Again.

What am I doing in the midst

Of all this cataclysmic yet undying 

Age of man? 

Someone unplug the life support,

I’ve never had any control. 

We're all nothing  

But the nightmare manifestations

Of all the primeval Cold Star Children’s 

Tortured imprisoned cosmic heads,

Possessed with the total disorder of 

Unnecessarily elevated consciousness. 

Or

We may all simply be made from stardust,

And nothing more.

But either way

Nothing shines

Behind the great diseased fog of 

Nothingness

That has long afflicted our hopeless lot.

Whatever may be,

Only one question remains;

So what? 

-