group resistant to
the rule of law and justice
because of their badge
Poetry
an incomplete life…
the empty spaces
wedged between your dreams are fears
forced in by others
the library…
one life to a book
collections of short stories
all first editions
once a book has been removed
just a few are remembered
most are forgotten
their spaces are soon refilled
with newer copies
dusty historical books
the only remnants of souls
]
what’s all this fuss about…
there’s nothing to hide
since he’s not paid his taxes
but loves to spend ours
autumn patriots…
roadside
improvised
explosive
political devices
nothing more
than
home-made mercenaries
pretending
to
believe
in freedom
but
failing to understands
its
most basic principles
shedding
their white sheets
in order
to
change
their attire
into
that
of
those
they disgrace
true patriots
who died
for
freedom
those
the president
called
suckers
and
fools
whose
sacred ground
of
liberty
swine
now stand on
holding
weapons of war
like
ss goon squads
set on
purifying
the nation
a nation
to
which
they
have no true
alliance
rather
an alliance
to
ignorance
and
hate
the optimist…
as hell’s gates opened
she calmly reassured all
winters won’t be cold
presidential debates…
after picking up
office documents
i needed
to
work
from home
i saw
the brown bag prophet
and
asked
if
he planned
to
watch the presidential debates
the prophet
said
i believe it was
james baldwin
that
turned the phrase
masturbatory delusion
which
clearly delineates
what
the president
will demonstrate
in
the upcoming debates
especially
if
his previous
incoherent
self-indulgent
jabberwocky sessions
are
representative
so
i’d
rather not
take part
in such
a voyeuristic exhibition
of
pathological lying
anyway
this isn’t some
high school speech contest
where
the winner
gets
a blue ribbon
for
the best performance
in
utilizing
stage entertainment techniques
we’re talking about
someone
who will wield
enormous worldwide power
so
basing
a decision
of
who to vote for
as
a result
of
three recitations
seems
quite foolish
to
me
scotus….
corpse still in its bed
when looters entered chambers
seeking what’s precious
greed’s stench was upon their hands
as they pried off freedom’s ring
all the president’s junkyard dogs …
they appear lifelike
but have no humanity
they are just castings
hollow men who resonate
whatever you want to hear
outsourcing…
sunken eyes
blackened with fear
flesh
stretched tight
over
a fractured skeleton
a framework of despair
too weakened to move
or
swish away flies
flies
on
unattended sores
festering wounds
of
war
war for
computer chips
or
more precisely
the resources needed
to
manufacture chips
precious semiconductors
necessary
for
calling out
for
pizza
or
chatting
with
unknown friends
who’ve
been befriended
but
not one call
to
this child
