Graveyard Swag (v. i.)

by February 10, 2016 0 comments

Trying to say something smart when there’s nothing to add to the conversation.
Trying to practice equanimity, to remember this illusion, our own creation.
Beginning to hate, questions and doubts, beginning to love, more questions, more doubts.
Beginning again, again, again, twist and shout, echo, echo, faint, ever fainter, fade out.
Swagger wearing a scary mask, that hides a lack of self-confidence.
Swagger inspired to the task, that loves to flaunt it when you notice.
There is no need for you, for true, when I see my flag in the wind unfurl.
There is no me, there is no you, no place for art in this righteous world.
Power that pounds on your door, complicit, no sense of irony.
Power that gives itself away, that hates its place in history.
Violence, a pendulum that swings faster, in an ever quickening cycle.
Violence that cuts through flesh, through blood, words slicing, a revival.
Love that looks its enemy in the eye with an open heart and a smile.
Love from the sweet bye and bye, ready for the kill, or to hold you a while.

– Randall Garrett

editors note:

What a thrill for a love that kills. – mh clay

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