Jay Alejo Writes

Sound of horns I wake and bake before you

A mound of scorned forms awake in Hormuz

I encapsulate the vacant worms gone through you

And reborn again I try to gain new form too

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So nonetheless I regurgitate Samsara

And blessed as though I be from Karma

I yet hope to avoid tomorrow

With the mark of collective Cain on my brow

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For so long as I predict next text

I act circumspect and annihilate

Avoiding at all costs introspection

To the best of my recollection

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Mounds of slaughter in my pocket

And I pull the vacuum out the socket

Our futures captured in a rocket

Born to fail and painfully obvious

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So so long to the world at large

I murdered the murderer on the barge

And plastered my own face in bricolage

While disappearing in the mirage

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The rest of the world rests dispoiled

Popping boils and exposed soil

Disrupted toil amounting to oil

World War and accreted literary foils

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Depleted found restless still

The Bourgeois Right to pay the bill

Pouring insecticide down the ant hill

Molecular genocide gone in for the kill

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And it accumulates on each our souls

I drink a beer and pack a bowl

I’m still young and feel very old

I’m powerless if I may be so bold

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In skepticism I relate benighted

My identity is lately frightened

Self-concept set alight

And the burning flames fade in night