the scorched pheonix - part 1

snap decision- fatigued by twisted caps peel orange slice. I am officially duranged according to monitor cords wrapped tightly around throats. smoke blown tires. racing hearts, fists thrown through glasscoke tabletops. and he felt like a man behind the steel of his gun. felt like a lord the way it made the nothings run. rumble hardrocks down streetblocks. i wish a peaceful sleep to my enemies so we can settle debts in the mourning. in the coughing, in the cold, in the sneeze. snout sniff behind. who are we behind? who is in the neighborhood watch? watchticks. watch these stick burn underfoot. uproot the machines from the clawclutch into the hardened soil. as solid as workout and lean meat weight gain. does your muscle-riddled physique protect your chest from bullets? is your mind immune to the firstlast temptation? how do you hide so well in plain-view? this desert tastes like water belongs in the sand next to the mummified cat coarpses. the air tastes like Horus-droppings. Eggs fry on sidenotes, for the marginalized. Atonement forthcoming. Disintery in the flood. Purpose in the burial chambers if you can read it out, feel it through. Evidence of a beginning, a starting point, a fireflash. Sobriety in the moment of realization, in communicated pain, like we can all feel. Empathy versus apathy versus all the journeymen, all the soldiers, all the kings, and of course, your dirty secrets that you buried alongside priests. Animosity in the labor camps, directed at the sun for the burn. Fuck your Akhenaten hell. Welcome home pretty bird, time to roost, and gather, and feed your young.