Bleat / Antithesis Kin

Si / Dylan / Bobbi

---

Si

I fell out of a window.
I fell on a pile of leaves made of clay —
they didn’t break my fall.

I’m in the midst of blisters bound with twine and fixtures.
Swines and bitches, flatly found all over the indomitable playground.
Footage found of floundering cowards.

Allow this:
to beat piss out of the ridiculous capitalists.

I’m stacking crackers in my pantry
and they’re accumulating riches.

I’m in stitches.

For all that it’s worth,
birth a curse of ill reverse.

Poisoning the waters that are reserved
for sons and daughters of the earth,
lurking at the door to pour the order over all of us.

Fuck you.

You son of a gun that never heard it fire.

Higher you go, higher, higher.
Goodbye-uhh.

Sing your song of sixpence at your leisure.

I’ma keep a lighter by my side
to light the way before I die.

---

Dylan

Stay lit, litty, shitty —
you will get hit,
by him, not me,
not a thing I do.

In colour I’m a cracker too,
but not at heart —
too much empathy,
so I’m still against the man
that made the plan
to take control of all the gold,
all the wealth to himself.

Trickle down like a piss stream,
smelling that like it’s ream steam.

We got fucked,
and they’re still fucking us.

Brand it up like we like that,
like it’s right like that,
that we tight like that.

No.

Fuck ’em back.

Squeeze down on arteries,
bite down while on knees,
let ’em bleed,
bleed ’em dry.

No more Mr White Guy.

---

Bobbi

Bleat.

Bleat, little sheep.

Human woes.
Fight like hoes,
find the best John,
laden with gold,
so old.

Top dog.
The man.
Raking it in.

Cheers, Uncle Sam.

Yes sir, no sir,
three bags full, SIR.

Playing his game.
Veer to the right.
Greed plentiful,
control tight.

Are you not winning?

Condemn the man,
the rule maker,
the moral breaker.

Make your distrust clear.
No fear, right?

Spit out that anger,
spew your words to all that hear.

No fear, RIGHT?!

Freedom of speech — so speak.

BLEAT.

Freedom of choice — so choose…

Do you?

Do you walk the line?

I think so.

Do you break the rules?

I think NOT!

But speak out, tell them all,
you see the man.

He stacks the deck,
tells you it’s fair.

Random hand.
Take what you’re dealt.

But you see…
you know…
you are not slow.

So then STOP.

Yet toe the line,
forward you go.

Bleat, bleat, bleat, little sheep.

Hollow words.

Following Mother Mary,
bleating all the way home.

Bleat, little sheep.

Bleat.

I stand, quietly observing.

Finding ways.

Don’t be seen by the man.

A fire too small to worry about,
crackling so quiet it won’t stand out.

You question me?

Don’t spit in my mouth.
Don’t ask me to swallow.

Such vile, empty sputum
of hate, fear and sorrow.

Fuck off with your shit.

Bark and no bite,
bleating all the way
to his finish line.

Go suck his dick.

---

Si

Getting high on your own supply
with extra icing.

Regurgitating spit into the air
as it sucks up your ass
in a reverse fart situation.

Master baton in front of the mirror,
masturbating in a sarong.

Bleating to the people,
see the steeple steep into the field
where it’s been burning
all the damn day long.

---

Dylan

Holding the image
of who you think you should be,
who they told you to be,

has-been,

flicking bean,
fucking clean,
friction keeps you lean —

you got ream steam,
hams jammed by the man’s meat.

Bleat.

---

Si

I’m dreaming cinematic shit
as I sit at a desk
and compel myself to stick with it.

But I wanna quit with a quilt.

Quietly quelling quintessential questions,
quickening as my quadriceps quake
under weight that’s quaint.

I’ll waste your time
as you waste mine,
yet I accrue the fine.

I signed a dotted line.

Your money for my time.

And now my species is under threat
and our bald-headed white-power leadership
is fuelling it.

It’s not the colour of the skin
but the committing of sin
that lets the devil fuck their ass from within.

Antithesis kin.

Ring a bell for your din
as the din of my kin
lingers long into the night
and stains the earth
again and again.

And the men forget their manners
as the women mean a whole-a lotta more-a
than they mean-a.

Arena, with the audience.

A speech with suspense,
a fence with a couple of patents,
couple of colours,
to signify they’re standing aside.

I mean-a choosing a side.

Getting paid as an aside.

Yet I never signed up for this shit
and yet it fucks with my pigment.

As I look back with a sore neck,
I wonder what it was
that Jesus had meant.

Antithesis kin.

---

Dylan

I’m thinking on death
and the high cost of living.

Not giving:

up,
a fuck,
a toss.

Toss a coin —
pay the man who chose
to not obey the plan.

Homeless as they cut up
land,
shut up
language,
tossed out
culture,

ate up
like vultures,
pick a corpse clean.

Vaccine.

Vaccinate me against
the upper tax bracket.

Smack it,
smack down,
Ham Town,
full clown.

Clowned on
when you stood out of line.

Step too far,
get waterboarded,
drowned on.

Speak,
tweet,
beaks,

brought up by the peak,
social elite,
control the government,

pay the pipers,
prod them
and they bite like vipers.

Bite back.

Sack up.
Get sacked.
Shut up.

Now you are homeless too.

Toss a coin to yourself.
Toss meat.

Put desire on the shelf.

Leave.

Leaves.

Leafy green.

Leave the city for the forest.
Live clean.

Meditate.

Dwell on everything you hate.

Make a plan.
Line it up.
Focus in.

Fuck it up.

Revenge.

Vengeance.

Pray to the blood god.

Hone it.
Own it.

Come back a slayer,
not an idle naysayer.

Identify the enemy.

Eliminate her,
or him —

make them pay
for how they fucked the system.

The system.

Fucking listen.

Even if you burn it all down,
the ideas inherent,
embedded in everyone,

taken root,
rooted,

become the new norm.

Form.

Gormless whoresons,
born with brain rot,
turned to aimbot,
trained to get caught,

trapped in that thought.

Can’t keep clear.

Stay focused.
Stay aware.

Of what?

Can’t tell
when it looks like air.

Breathe it in all day.

Play.
Work.
Live.

Think it’s clear.

You’re clear?

No.

Just unaware.

Uneducated on the subject
at large.

Discharge.

Illusionary melancholy.

Call it economy.