Restless and reckless, too many close calls

In the Sahara developed a Defiance Messiah

Complex on dexedrine with brain-drain.

I’m all in with a winner’s grin, grinning in.

This is the winter of our discontent,

a veil covering the whole continent

continuous and sentimentally,

leaving me feeling mentally empty,

with something less, asking for substance.

Command the renegade brigade,

Suffocating blockade, blocked in and locked in.

I’m a sub-zero hero at zero hour,

I’m hungry for substance, in a fighting stance;

this is not by chance or coincidence in conscience.

Athletic traffic accident left paraplegic,

parachuting Percocet, assassinating alphabets

Alpha and Omega vent frustration,

I have no hesitation in the escalation of violence, ambivalence—

violating violets with a violin in line, being infinite, never ending

like my path for substance. Go far, go deep

into the mystic, looking for what’s realistic

Without it I feel nihilistic, shoot like a ballistic pessimist,

take the opportunity of an optimist with the priority of substance, make new extraordinary,

extra-scary destiny left distinctly distinguished

Like an alcoholic alkaline combined with a carbine

Like at columbine, run a combine with cauliflower ears

common to a college wrestler. Being attested, side-lined,

just resting, wrestling with inactivity,

fixed on the aspect of asphyxiation to the point of annihilation…

I feel subhuman without substance. Submerge beneath

earth, merged with dirt, converge the fragments in a

frantic moment—holding it like a sporadic addict