four shredded sheets…

four shreddded pages

nothing
left
of
the dream
cracks
in the rampart
have
let
truth’s darkness
overwhelm
the dim light
of
national myths
now
the broken 
sharp
edges
of
reality
protrude
into
each day
severing hope
from
well-tutored
promises

 

 

cashing out…

cashing out

been investing
in
this nation
all
my life
but
haven’t seen
any
real dividends
in
fact
current market trends
due
to
wholesale
insider trading
by
republicans
has
made
the commodity
of
freedom
a
poor
long term
american investment
so
i’m
considering
divestment
in
the promissory notes
of
freedom
for
reinvestment
in
portugal

a celebratory funeral…

a celebratory funeral

shadows
of
yesterday
linger
above
the sunrise
rays
of 
light
reflect off
discarded
silver streamers
and
paper party favors
those
souvenirs
of
a dying year
and
the birth
of
unkeepable promises
a rather
pontius pilate moment
for
most merrymakers
cleansing
their hands
of
previous episodes
of
existence
now
offering up
for
crucifixion
a new
covenant
commitments
covering
a range
of
declared weaknesses
from
health
to
social justice
a contract
no doubt
when
viewed
this time
next year
must have been written
in
invisible ink

 

 

playpens…

playpens

traditionally
a square shaped space
with
solid bars
resembling
a cage
no
flexibility
in
the range
of
movements
but
was excellent
at
teaching
the lesson
that
there was no way out
but
the old-fashioned
bar design
is
long gone
now
modern designs
provide
flexible walls
and
a clearer view
of
what’s beyond
the
horizon
thus
facilitating
the illusion
of
freedom
this sense
of
freedom
can be enhanced
by
a variety
of
extra features
added
to
this
stagnant environment
options
that are
entertaining
and
distracting
thus
heightening
the belief
that all things are possible
but
like
all social playpens
the function
remains
the same
to maintain
confinement
thereby
safety
for
the ruling class

 

 

antitoxin…

antitoxin

club’s
well short
of
a quorum
just
a few old jazzers
with
hearts
pulsating
to
piano notes
no one
but
the musicians
on
stage
seems
to notice
the lack
of
patrons
all that matters
to
the old jazzers
is
the music
the antidote
to
the world outside
it’s
been that way
forever
it seems
music
counteracting
the poison
of
the world
releasing
a flood
of
sweet memories
with
just
a few chords
and
notes