Be still, I am God

I feel like a storm in a jar, I used to go fucking ballistic on this miserable digital paper, I used to write like I loved things, felt things, the raw vibrant orange flakes of rust and bitter decay, the molded tin shack paradise of Shope Road and lower Enota, the cow eyes and bristles of pine thistle, the ink balm parachutes, bride and groom gutted stomachs of anger and happiness.

Now I watch deer melt and glow golden with the dusk, they vanish like ghosts in the starless dark, heaven and the barbaric infection, my rotten kidneys and aborted liver, puke eyes and littered with speckled gum drops, tiny floating pink cities on the sidewalk.

I've written books as babies fester to drowsy skeletons in a swank garbage bag. Makeshift rubbish farms, polluted daylight canvas, pennies blot the heavy blankets of swaying skin, tire tracks in the mud, tangles of prison copse and kudzu splotches, the roach-bug metropolis and living body of bullet ants, the maggots and stench of decomposing flowers, that's what it looks like, dotted with leaves, miry and swollen with moth, corpse flies and the fogged lens of television camera's, an empty cistern, tiny arms, tiny legs with dirty socks turned to black, motherless and fatherless blots of glued teeth, duct taped eye sockets and badly broken rib cage.

The driving clouds and poor clod of frightened people burrowing in their holes, everyone hanging like lanterns in the dark, the sodden swamp freshly planted with hateful hearts, dried blood and bruised tongues protruding, the murderers and rape, the prisons of malevolent mothers and the rancid, the generic leprosy of expensive lawyers, the gulch of empathy, how they calm in the soil like putrid water in a sewer drain, spread out like a cross, etched words in the dirt, there is no beauty in it, it's the dead and dying child of God, it fuckin stinks, people would eat their newborns if they could, they would chew the fat and devour the pulp, it's ugly and never-ending, it's the world with zero contrast and shaded blinds, it looks like the morning light that lay over a field, it's heaven, you should see it.