the time machine…

Reynold Brown, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

most americas
have been living like elois
so unaware that
beneath democracy’s soil
morlocks are feasting on them

 

kintsugi…

a shattered nation
fragmented faith in freedom
can it be repaired
will the craftsmen who broke it
join and form truth’s golden bond
or will this nation
remain broken by greed’s hate
deliberately smashed
a broken vessel to be
tossed into history’s bin

 

final election results…

fangs dripping with blood
victims prostrate at his feet
still this nation bleeds
state rights are to be ignored
hoping for dictatorship

 

while you were waiting…

i’ve noticed
that
you’ve
begun
to talk
to
shadows
and
wait
quietly
for
their reply
one
that never comes
but
still
you wait
like
some marble monument
depicting
an unknown saint
slain
in
the service
of
an unknown god
i
suspect
that
you
do not see
the
encroaching darkness
nor
understand
the perils
of
your compromising
you’re
too engrossed
in
your dreams
of
power
to
see
or
hear
death’s proclamation
i
claim
your
soul
for serving
the
god
apate

 

less than strangers…

every thing they said
has come to lies’ fulfillment
you do not recall
an old wagon ride
round and round all those summers
nor do you recall
whose hands and voice embraced you
some how ghosts stories
have replaced the real events
a black hologram of truth
i understand why
the truth is hard to live with
those crimes of passion
have altered life’s history
and the fools always believe

 

behavioral modification…

the names
of
their true
gods
adorn
their bumper stickers
embossed
with
their
mindless mantras
those
carefully contrived
scriptures
from
an ad agency
after being
thoroughly
researched
by
behavioral scientists
and
predicted
to be
on par
with
the gospel
convincing
even
saints
to vote
for
the devil

 

when saints dance with devils …

the chamber’s littered
with charred bones and melted gold
wealth of the nation
abstracted from its people
solely for a few’s pleasure
but fools won’t complain
they believe their battles won
but the gold’s been cast
into their final death masks
poured over their moral souls
stealing their last breath
branding their souls with their greed
leaving sunken eyes
empty of tomorrow’s hope
like rats on a sinking ship

 

without a window…

rancid air fills lungs
what’s outside makes no difference
what’s said is what’s real
question none of existence
when the bell rings salivate

 

the lottery…

all were to gather
according
to their tribe
some met
in
schools
some
in
villages
for
the elders
others
in
places of worship
or
places of their specific trade
but
all were to meet
for
the priests
who
lived apart
from
the people
had said
the lives
sacrificed
would bring
prosperity
but
if
no one
entered
the stoning pit
all
would perish
a few nonbelievers
questioned
why
more
poor and elderly
entered
the pit
but
most
merely gathered
and
awaited
to hear
the number of dead
since
saying the dead’s name
was taboo
and
would awaken
the god
sia
so
like a herd of cattle
the people
followed
the herdsman’s
pavlovian bell