bonfire of political delight…

bodies
piled
upon
urban dreams
stacked
like
old books
in
a scene
from
fahrenheit 451
bodies
of
children
weened
upon
a
dream
of
freedom
and
justice for all
now
just
emaciated
bodies
of
hope
layered
between
the dried dung
of
political promises
and
desiccated sticks
of
national loyalty
soaked
in
the kerosene
of
corporate
greed
to
be torched
and
forgotten

to whom it may concern…

do not
lay me down
into the frozen ground
where bones
become
as cold
as winter’s breath
no
cast my ashes
into the wind
that i might sail
free
to lands
i’ve never seen
nor
pondered
upon
and
if
there be
no
breeze
then
pour me
into the sea
to catch
a current
to those
childhood treasures
seen upon
the silver screen
but
whatever course
i must take
let me not
stay here
buried
with human fears
in a land
where chains
are wrapped around
each person’s thoughts
thoughts
that bind them
to
their savage past

just the thought…

the brown bag prophet
was sitting
at
a park bench
staring out
at
the ocean
with
his feet
held up
from
the ground
practicing a new yoga position
i posited
he said
no
just saw some
red ants
as i
was
walking here
and
then got
that
feeling
maybe
there’s some ants
just
below my feet
getting ready
to
crawl
all over me
that
same feeling
one gets
when viewing
today’s political scene
ants crawling
all
over you
invading
that little
space of sanity
that
you still
have left
so
like
so many
in this nation
i’ve gone
into
a fetal position
reminding myself
of
the germinal values
of
this now
dying
nation