perpetual machine…

finally disclosed
the device that never stops
it’s the war machine

 

how mcdonald’s et al destroyed the world…

everything’s
fast food
what we
eat
read
and
how we
contemplate
the world
around us
it’s easy
to do
ipads
and
watches
deliver
takeout
predigested news
served up
with
side dishes
of
calorie laden
commercials
for
our consumption
carefully conceived
and
cooked up
by
monetizing
algorithmic
corporate chefs
and
since
our minds
are not feed
anything
to chew on
the
political
and
marketing lies
are
easily digested
by
democracy’s
couch potatoes
who
without
any
physical effort
on their part
not
even
the consumption
of
weight loss pills
still manage
to
lose
significant portions
of
their freedom

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

 

 

arson…

blazes
intentionally set
to
deprive
others
of
what they have
paid
for
with
sacrifices
of
blood
and
flesh
the hard labors
of
a lifetime
turned
into
smoldering
remnants
of
freedom
and
charred dreams
of
a better nation
a nation
which
could evolve
into
it’s
own
myth
were it
not
for
political arsonists
setting fires
and
then
offering
to put them out
for
the mere price
of
your soul
a so called
deal
of
the century

 

capital investment …

returning
from
the market
during
my weekly
outing from quarantine
i
saw the brown bag prophet
with
a sign
that read
they kept their promise
mask on
i rolled down my window
and
inquired
what the sign was about
well
the prophet
said
with a voice
muffled somewhat
by
his cloth mask
those businessmen
who’ve taken over
the government
have done
what they promised
turned the government
into
a business
and
like most businesses 
the
folks at the top
in
the administration
get
all
the profits
while
folks
at
the
bottom
and
in the middle
do
all the work
and are rewarded
with
just enough
to
almost survive
while
watching
their
government aided programs
be cut
in order
to
increase profits
profits
that
have
bankrupted
the
nation
but
those
conflict of interest business folks
kept their
promise

 

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

 

singing a tired refrain again…

the city’s
opened up some
so
streets
have begun
to
be re-inhabited
by
dreamers
and
shadow people
when
i saw
the brown bag prophet
he seemed
none the worst
for
the wear
when
i asked
about
his being
he replied
nothing
has changed
myths of freedom
still
circulate
among
the masses
who’ve
ignored
the history
of
america
they continue
to
sing refrains
sung
since enslavement
one more river to cross
or
to let my people go
as if
one more compromise
or
prayer
will
make
a difference
son
the one thing
i’ve learned
in
this life
is
enslavement
never ended
nor
was
it intended
to
end
subjugation
of
people of color
has been
and
continues
to be
codified
in the actions
and
laws
of
the nation
but
we keep singing
freedom songs
as if
the words
are
some magical incantation
but
child
my father’s
father
sang
those songs
so
i know the words
well
as well as
what
will come
from
them

 

still picking cotton…

fingers
raw
blood dyes
the
whiteness
bags
of
enslavement
fill
the coffers
of
society’s sloths
land owners
and
corporate moguls
who’ve
never
lifted
anything
but
a whip
or
martini glass
and
unable to
carry
even the lightest
yoke
of
labor
they claim
they’ve worked
hard
for
their wealth
but
it is
our blood
staining
every fiber
they’ve done nothing
but
enslave
they
own
nothing
nothing
just
a myth
which
they repeat
as
their mantra
leaving
us
to
pick
the world’s
cotton