just talk to the hand….

just talk to the hand

please
don’t say
those words
again
about
us
all getting along
because
we can’t
hell
even lovers
can’t
do that
so
why
do we pretend
that
the embedded
rebars
of
ignorance
and
hate
can be chiseled
from
centuries
of
layered
contrived history
each
previous
attempt
has been
paved over
with
more
hatred
and
fabricated
reasons
to
fear
others
that
are
not understood
nor
acknowledged
for
that matter
so
please
do not
bother me
with
can’t we
all
just
get along

 

 

the smell…

the smell...

i’m not sure
why i didn’t notice
it before
perhaps
the window
was partially opened
and
i must
have been closer
to
the window
so
the stench
went
unnoticed
but
i’ve heard
others
speak
of
it
but
i was certain
for awhile
that
they were
quite
mistaken
but
now
the smell
is
totally
oppressive
putrid smells
of
a slaughterhouse
bends
my body
to
the ground
as
i retched
when
i realize
that
in
the darkness
of
these
last few years
it was
the smell
of
the rotting corpse
of
freedom

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

 

 

just just-in-time friends…

just just-in-time friends2

called
on
an
as needed
basis
otherwise
their
faces
are
quite
invisible
no need
to
warehouse
personal relationships
nor
store
past emotions
of
devotion
when
one can
merely
send a text
requesting
that
everything be dropped
on
their behalf
but
best to wrap it
in
phrases
like
we really should have lunch
or
i’ve been thinking
so much
about
you
for the longest time
however
better yet
is the admission
of
the sin
of
omission
with
some
act of contrition
words
deeply personal
admitting
to
the neglect
of
your special relationship
with
said friend
seeking
their absolution
before
asking
for what
you
really
want

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

when eyes avert…

when eyes avert

a
wall
of
death
names
scribbled
onto
old
decaying
wooden planks
of
history
those
souls
lost
in ignorance
believing
that
online propaganda
could
somehow
or
should
rebuke
science
so
they
joined hands
forming
a circle
around
their misconceptions
to
shield
those
within
but
those
within
all
died
but
the protectors
cheered on
by
the patrons
of
greed
and
power
couldn’t see
the
obvious
for
they
were
looking
outward
facing
the blinding
light
of
truth
unable
to
see
the carnage
of
their
blind beliefs
bodies
piled
high
into
eternity

dropping the ball…

dropping the ball

the old pastor
approached
the young man
after
hearing him
berate
a teenage parishioner
who
had 
dropped
a fly ball
spinning around
this novice
of
life
yelled
don’t tell me
how to coach
old man
smiling
the gray haired
parson
said
i wasn’t trying to
i was
hoping to
teach you
how
to think