the back of the bus…

the back of the bus

welcome
have a seat
at
the rear
of
the bus
we’ve
designed it
so
it looks
just
like
the front
only
looking to
where
we’ve been
it even comes
with
its own
humanoid driver
fashioned
to look
like
lincoln
for we know
how much
your
people
admire him
even though
his motives
for
your emmancipation
were
less
egalitarian
than
you’ve
fantasized
however
that has
served us well
you
continue
to
blindly vote
for
our candidates
out of
allegiance to the past
and
we’d like for you
to
continue
so we
place
center stage
one or two
of
yours
on
every
campaign camera angle
remember
even if we limit
your voting rights
we
want you to stay
right

guess it doesn’t matter anymore…

guess it doesn't matter anymore...

once baptized
with time
all
previous crimes
are to be forgotten
offenses of morality
are
washed away
and
we are encouraged
to
forgive
forgiveness
society’s masquerade
the transubstantiation
of
immoral acts
into
the divine law
of
man
so
unjust deaths
from
prejudice
religious intolerance
and
corporate profit taking
are to be seen
as
purified
by
the passage of time
politicos say
we must
forget
transgressions
in order
to move forward
but
forgiveness
is impossible
when
standing
among
the graves
of those
who died
for
the illusion
of
justice

the forgotten…

the forgotten

sitting unheard
in
the shadows
of
life
are
the old dreamers
dreamers
who had
such
wonderful plans
as they
set out
on
life’s journey
only
to end up
barely visible
in
the shadows
of
existence
with
their dreams
scattered
like
litter
around
their useless feet
useless
since
they have no time
left
to travel
the promise
of
death
anchors them
to
retirement home hallways
or
their
artificially
cheerful cells
decorated
with
life fragments
a time
when
they weren’t
in
this purgatory
this
transitional place
that
offers
drive-by-visitors
family members
who’ve
forgotten
that
beinghood
is more than
safety
it’s a warm embrace
and
seeing daily
the faces
of
those you love
but
convenience
becomes
the watch word
and so
souls become
forgotten

fear #2…

fear_2

sounds in the night
those
like
someone
moving around
oh it’s
just
the house settling
or
the wind
but it’s
a windless night
so
sounds
without
a logical explanation
quickly
convert
to those
childhood stories
oh
not the fairytales
but
the ones told
by
cantankerous uncles
engaged
in
scaring
the bejesus
out of
over confident teens
young males
whose
alpha status
is being tested
by
a group
of
old men
holding court
in
gramma’s old house
where
they too
first learned
the stories
now embellished
to
fit the times
and
of course
with the knowledge
that
the feral cats
always
wander around
this
time of night

a simple choice…

a simple choice

if we gather up
all
the helpless children
of
the world
and
place
their starving bodies
into
a pit
telling you
that
only a handful
can be saved
then
ask you
who shall we save
most
of you
would choose
the ones
that
look
the most
like you
some of you
will
protest
and
declare that
you
would save
a broad spectrum
of
children
not dependent
upon
race
but
look into that pit again
stare
into those
sad emaciated eyes
tears dried on skin
and tell me again
skin
would not be considered

and you were expecting what…

and you expected what...

from its inception
the law
has been
unequal
for those
under
it
its function
has been
and
continues
to be
to
maintain
servitude
and
the clear
separation
of
the haves
from
the have nots
a systematic method
of
oppression
that gives
the illusion
of
freedom
and
the fasle expectation
of
impartial justice
bolstered
by
the bedtime stories
from
history
about
heroic acts
that
never occurred
or
occurred
in
a less than
courageous
manner