Reddust Refusal


Poison paths choke hope from frames of mind

as job-well-done-week’s-vacation

are the holy veils that cloak each wail.

While cold industry priests cry it’s of no concern

that you feel so done-in,

that the human is buried daily beneath this frantic din.


Do you see the wound we inflict upon ourselves,

lost in each profitable hell?

Blood for the golden horn, the duties borne,

the roar of their collapsing tower -

oh, how it devours

oh how it feeds us gospels of greed.

Hear the roar of their collapsing tower

oh how it devours

oh how it feeds us gospels of greed…


Of false paradise fever material dreams.

Wage slaves beg for scraps bought in life-debt decrees.

Their heads bow exalting slow-death deities,

who hiss schizophrenia and murder the seeds

of what could be.

But beneath pale thrones burns a refusal to go

as hive-mind maintainers of Capital’s row.

We all have inside the tools to overthrow

each technocrat savior hollowing the soul.

We won’t be sold on cowering, on miserably accepting

glorified survival when we deserve better

glorify survival but we will have better.


One drop in sight

of pure delight

of moon blue night

gives us strength to break through

the hustle of our reddust days.


My agency

nectar sweet

comes to me

as the whispering pine halls enthrall

as baby animals dance in pale spring jubilee… so will we!