Pot Roast Concussion

A fractured family of a mother, two girls, and two boys sat routinely at the dinner table ready to ingest a steaming pot roast, a rare treat for the broken home. Meals were usually eaten in relative silence, save for the occasional lip smack and slurping sounds found in most Midwestern households. If any conversation erupted, the mother usually initiated it, but talk was sparse. The verbal silence this evening was broken not by the mother, but by the eight year old boy, Steven, who requested butter in a most unorthodox manner. "Pass the Buddha, please." Thwack! The mother, within arm's length, savagely slapped little Stevie flush across his cheek. Shock hung in the air as everyone at the table froze in anticipation for more violence to follow. "Blasphemer! Where did you pick up that heathen word, young man?" Stevie made no response, his hand slowly crept up to his reddening cheek. A cold second lingered. Unexpectedly, Stevie let out an abrupt laugh. The mother's face contorted in raw disbelief. Stevie began to let out a series of guffaws like a geyser releasing long built-up pressure from the bowels of the earth. "Oh, ho, ho.... you want to be a little smart-ass?!" The mother rose from the table and began to pace behind Stevie. By this time, he was so petrified by the inevitable consequence, his laughter became hysterical, with snorts accenting each burst. Martha, the twelve-year-old, smiled slightly, unable to hide the amusement of watching Stevie defy their domineering mother; although, she knew a new kind of storm brewed in the mind of her mother like no other she had seen prior, a volatile electrical storm more physical in nature compared to the many verbal squalls of the past. A broom leaned in the corner of the room; the mother grabbed it with vigorous intent, using it for a purpose other than house cleaning. She loomed over Stevie with an ominous smile stamped on her weathered face. "You think it's funny, makin' fun of baby Jesus?" Whack! Stevie let out a hiss as the broom handle came down on his soft skull. "What do ya think now, you little cocksucker?!" Stevie let out such a burst of giggles little fragments of food shot out over the red-checkered table cloth. Whack-whack-whack! Martha stopped smiling. She could see knots beginning to rise on top of Stevie's head like an ultra violent Bugs Bunny cartoon. By now, the youngest boy, Charley, screeched in horror, and Rita, the second oldest, stood up and ran into her bedroom being as inconspicuous as possible. Stevie continued to laugh, but the tone began to change. His eyes blackened with dilation. Madness crept behind the veil foreshadowing events which would take place years later. The mother sat back down after one final barrage. Her breathing had become labored. She sat glaring at little Stevie who still softly chuckled. She then, unexpectedly, let out a loud guffaw mingled with a shaking head of perplexity. She speared a hunk of meat on her plate and greedily began to eat as if nothing had taken place. Martha stared, incredulously, at her mother. She slowly rose from her chair and crept from the room holding back tears for her abused brother. Little Stevie would never be the same.

An Old Friend I've Never Met

I'm standing in a field with a blue-red dream state spinning its web of fractals across my so called senses. Next to me is an entity that once was a guy who shared the sacrament, but now is a glow that chuckles now and then. In the distance I hear the dogs barking, barking in frustration because something is amiss, the humans are off key. I quickly spit out a routine of a dog's life behind a fence barking and growling at a mystery while its master screams, "What the fuck are you barking for!?" And the baffled dog replies, "Don't know. I'm just tired of eating the same shit all the time." I hear another slight chuckle from the myopic taciturn man-aura to my left (whatever "left" means). "Man, take a look at the sky!" he exclaims, like a trumpet announcing the approach of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I quickly shift my attention from the ground, with its morphing geometrical orgy of blues and reds, to straight up (whatever "up" means) into the starry night sky and instantly understand mankind's ancient love affair with the heavens. But on my canvas there's a little bit of hell mixed in for contrast. Everything in my breath is connected to that! Worlds are dying and civilizations are just giving birth to gods in their image. Ego infested sentient beings are plotting and scheming to systematically lull their masses to sleep while they ransack the souls left behind by distraction. A being is, for the first time, using a language to accurately describe the true meaning of love to an audience of indifference. I take a deep breath from the cold intoxicating universe, turn connectedly towards Greg, and simply say, "Woof!".

Reunion

My leisure eats my intellect
With a hungry,belly-driven smile

Dimmed eyes view the world restlessly
In need of constant change
And distraction

Stall the world
Stop the rotation

We're not worthy of the motion
Emotion

A dictated disposition
Position

An uncomfortable history created in the now

Dispel the laws of breath fuels blood
Breath fuels madness in God's new medium

The canvas of clogged pores
Emitting the odor of
Inevitable death

Premature decay
And away..... we go

Stick
Swell
Clenched teeth

Bite that lip, baby
Breathe

Tip bad girl
Make 'er feel good
Make her feel..... oh, just a little
Numb

Water snakes off ice
In a whiskey cage

Covered bruises thankful for winter's cold

Starvation sensation
Suspended by chemical
Habitation

Tongues lick the life out of death

Relations disowned
Disconnected
Retrospected

"But I still love you"
"Get well soon"

Discontented
Rented

Then thrown away....

Bounce

I feel hell flowing in fluorescence
As birds chirp in laughter at my presence
I'm in the Wa-wa world
That's where I've been hurled
Flames have such strange tongues To lick the peeling sky
If I didn't know better,
I'd think I heard God cry
Voices in 45 then 64
Infinity just cracked its door
A queen ant broke her larval sac
A taste of death,
And now I'm back

Hymns of the Midnight Refugees (Beginning of Second Draft)

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11/07/2009 Update

My Poem, "Long Dead You" has been published in the latest edition of, "absent-cause, Literary Supplement". Here's the link to their site for more information:  http://absent-cause.blogspot.com/2009/10/absent-cause-zine-3-available-now.html

Poems by Allen Masterson10/24/2009

Lighthouse and Lord's Prayer

The ride began at dusk

Subtle scent of feminine musk

Skin silk

Mother's milk

Paisley sky

Pulsating hieroglyphs

Painting a picture of an iris-coned god

Abstract taste of deciphered decisions

Fear of truth in petrified visions

Hands melting to Lord's Prayer

Orange death's horizon scare

Left alone to suffer

A hellish orgasm

Impregnating heaven

With one demon seed

An insatiable appetite

To appease a need

Take flight with amplified No-Doze

Find rest with juxtaposed benzos

Sweating nightmares on the Lighthouse Highway

No light in this house, though...

The family's never home

Conflicted Peasant

Brilliant minds are beginning to surface on the sea of peasantry;

we can't have that now, can we.

Original thought without the subtle guidance of a mechanical curriculum will only

create havoc in our beloved technocracy.

Inspire the artist to conceive television utopias in a blink of attention deficiency.

Eye candy drugs dripping from radio wave orgies of consumption.

In the silence of their eyes plant vicarious deception.

Holden Caulfield's goddam phonies fucking jazz while supporting our troops.

Bleed the land, murder the individual, and fill my tank with unleaded intellect.

Nothing here to save us, our savior found in nothingness.

The perfect midnight yantra is the navel of a diva floating on the frost ridden plain of our primordial hunting ground.

Four great arms to hold us and chisel out our infinite cosmic void.

We never quite appreciate the keepers of the light.

In my mind is the key, but the key is housed in silence,

and I'm afraid of death which dwells inside her... she who knows our fate.

Sex becomes more violent with existence dipped in war; the rhythm more cathartic; each thrust a parley with perdition.

Please don't let them know how I feel. Don't let them know I'm not DOWN.

They can't realize I'm capable of expression.

I've lived up to their expectations of an isolated maniac,

so I've been recruited to guard Plato's perfect city;

and of course, I have mouths to feed.

Reunion

My leisure eats my intellect

With a hungry,belly-driven smile

Dimmed eyes view the world restlessly

In need of constant change And distraction

Stall the world

Stop the rotation

We're not worthy of the motion

Emotion

A dictated disposition

Position

An uncomfortable history created in the now

Dispel the laws of breath fuels blood

Breath fuels madness in God's new medium

The canvas of clogged pores

Emitting the odor of

Inevitable death

Premature decay

And away..... we go

Stick

Swell

Clenched teeth

Bite that lip, baby

Breathe

Tip bad girl

Make 'er feel good

Make her feel..... oh, just a little

Numb

Water snakes off ice

In a whiskey cage

Covered bruises thankful for winter's cold

Starvation sensation

Suspended by chemical

Habitation

Tongues lick the life out of death

Relations disowned

Disconnected

Retrospected

"But I still love you"

"Get well soon"

Discontented

Rented

Then thrown away....

Kiss The Particle Eve

Silver and Gold enter the prism

Of mankind's priorities

Betraying the intended nature

Of our early being

The Helix cracks, shifts

Mutating quantum theory

For Mithra's purpose-

Revenge

I kiss the particle Eve

Earth scented mother of man

I love to watch her cry

For our dilapidated ghetto existence

But it's OK

Adam's standing in the doorway

With a dollar bill to wipe her eyes

Love was never welcomed

Through the gate

Pure is the green

Emanating from my birth

Invaded by savage fluorescent technology

Cold, sterile floor at the entrance

Cold, sterile floor at the exit

Cold, sterile infinity in the void

Promising a warm smile when we reach the end

The helix cracks , shifts

Mutating quantum theory

Welcoming mankind's return

Maybe this time

We'll get it right

No Destination

Strolling through the Ethos

Along the windows of humanity

Peaking in on a dysfunctional marriage

Of savagery and technology

Longing to assimilate

To destroy my found ideology

But I stay in the cold

In pursuit of painful truth

Along the way the wisdom

In footsteps of great men

Sacrificed their comfort

For a taste of sacred fruit

Doomed to isolation

Ostracized by stunted masses

Hoping to be heard by birds

Of a brilliant feather

Appreciated by their kindred

In the cold, dark mist of night

Walking in footprints

On a path of lonely plight

Wheel Withing a Wheel

I lay back in a dream and gaze

At Ezekiel's wheel within a wheel

And wonder who are the chosen

They have their twelfth Imam

Their prefab temple stashed away

For the day

of their Messiah's arrival

Not to mention

The controversial Christ

Odin, Jupiter, Zeus, and Indra

Have a cup of tea

and smite an enemy

or two

I want to hunt and smell the victual

Fuck the metaphysical,

show me

The universe is flat

a two dimensional cat

That purrs as the witches burn

For what's at stake

I heave and wretch

To purge myself

of domesticity

Our technological hospitality

Which tames the Beast

And propagates apathy

From pedagogue

To demagogue

To God

A sacrifice for power that's arbitrary

For God is but a slave that lusts for the glory of the hunt

But has to stay back

Bound to his creation of misfits

At least 'till graduation day