conscription of thought…

ideas tailor fitted
for
public consumption
developing
an
acquired taste
for
the objectionable
killing
becomes
an act of faith
or
a necessary price
to pay
for
fill-in-the-blank causes
the
sales personnel
for
these marketed callings
dress
according
to
the product
being sold
wearing
symbolic uniforms
conveying
a contractual covenant
with
soon-to-be-named
and
documented deities
official
evidence
provided
upon request
from
handwritten human text
since
deities
rarely write
but
are more than willing
to
incite
romantic writings
quite
digestible
to
a core
of
white caned followers

concurrent moments…

a child’s
body
effloresces
miles
from the nearest
oasis
no
sounds but the wind
and
dry sand
obscuring
the body
in
land
destroyed
by man
making it
a child’s grave yard
a drink
tasted
was sent back
with
appropriate
angry looks
of
utter disgust
since
it was
obvious
the martini
had
far
too much
vermouth
making it
undrinkable

as if things weren’t bad enough…

posed scenes
photoshopped images
revealing
life
as
it
really is
contrived emotions
layered over
suppressed boredom
and
fatigue
from
the pretense
happy little housewife
with
numerous children
playing war games
with
the neighbors
on
neatly manicured lawns
soon
the little darlings
will don
all black clothes
and
sacrifice
their skin’s virginity
to an array
of tattoos
to proclaim
their independence
thus
conforming
to
the new
way of rebellion
by
selecting
their personalized manifesto
from
a catalog
of
photoshopped images

don’t give a damn if it’s televised…

this revolution
ain’t about
you
or
some
fat man’s taxes
it’s about
children
born
and
unborn
those
with pale
white skin
and
those
with satin
black skin
and
every color
in between
as well as
those
with
full plates
and
those
with empty plates
those
with clothes
with logos
and
those
with cloths
with ragged holes
so
don’t go
tossing about words
of
freedom of
the press
or
the oppression
of
this
or that
right
what i’m talking about
are
lives
lives of children
that we
all
owe
a debt
of
hope
to
so get up off your ass
and
do
something

homecoming…

bapa dola said
after years
of pursuing
wealth
and
fame
an old man
returned
to his childhood village
to
boast
of his accomplishments
only
to find it empty
all the huts
were
in shambles
the statue
of his protector
was but dust
and
tarnished metal
nothing was there
but
memories
and
so it is
with
all
seeking the past
he said

the clown’s lesson to the politician…

removing his makeup
the clown’s
aging flesh
was
revealed
the jaundice
from
deceit
was no longer
beneath
the layers
of
society’s nativity
he spoke
to his colleague
the politician
in clear
but
whispered tones
as
the stench
of
rotting promises
filled the room
with each breath
exhaled
he
said
always
offer them
a good
show
one worth
the price
of
admission
and
i tell you this
they
will never notice
your sleight of hand
as
you remove
their
freedoms