you are a stacked tower of satellite gloom
glowering your raspy doom in drab lighting
grey as crackled concrete spitting
tart textures of gravel into
every
crooked
crevice
and you dare call it plaster
with your tongue of plastic
as your words form and fall
faster and faster
in clanks of flaccid rust
like acidic locks casting
rancid casts on
wounds only blistering more
into smug sores
infesting the core
erasing the pure
there is no healing here
only spaces stale with self-pity

you praise static as solution
and grate your groans of
woe into black-holes
of blasphemy
rating your roaming
rant with standards
sunken by hectic
hazards decorated with scruples

force your blurred and blaring hurry
like a weapon into movement
and gift the grip of panic
permeating plains of change,
slicing direction like dice into stillness—
progress won’t suffice:
the deranged must derail
and drain the veil,
dread must prevail,
death must set sail,
before life faces fail
and finds opportunity—
unity tastes too frail;
unanimity hazes into stale.

but I deny your tides of ire
your grimy lies so graceless:
the christened confusion you spout
like some sordid blessing of doubt;
the bouts of stillness you force
onto body restless and coarse;
into mind mushed and muddled;
unto feelings hiding and huddled—  

yet my back bearing the weight of improvement
feels sunlight burning back toward turning;
and my glazed gaze recalling movement
yields toward warmth and tranquil yearning;
and your whispered reign ends in doom
as your nags unnoticed nestle your tomb—
shadow banished, life turned toward light;
shadow vanished, warp wiped from sight.