old friends…

sounds
of
night traffic
pulsing along
urban roads
have replaced
warm laughter over
dinner debates
debates
on
everything
but
not on
what
defines friendship
that
was
known
and
required
no
amendments
to
what constituted
why
we
loved
one another
but now
an
emptiness
a
fading out
into
the arid landscape
of
time
where
a grave stands
unattended
for
all those
who
cared
are
gone
so this
grave
bearing
my
name
will be
drought-stricken
no
tears
from
those
i
loved

 

throwing the bones…

the president’s doctor
comes
from
a long history
of
bone readers
in fact
some of your
ancestors
may have sought
similar
spiritual wisdom
from
the analytical interpretations
of
patterns
of
bones
scattered
on
pieces
of
black cloth
there’s
something
ironic about
the color
of
the cloth
but
that’s another discussion
for now
we’ll
just focus
on
traditional techniques
of
offering
messages
to
the querent
in this case
the
president
and
although
there was no
press coverage
of
the
actual bone reading
that viral
las vegas toss
it
was
apparent
from
the moment
the helicopter arrived
on
the white house lawn
that
the bones
foretold
of
deeply concerning events
in
the president’s future
so
he was
immediately rushed
to
a military hospital
a sort
of
a medical bunker
designed
to
fend off
what
almost
300,000 americans
have died from
but
once again
that’s
another story
so
we’ll return
to
the central topic
of
this verse
bones
cast before swines
a story of melodrama
a masked man
full of steroids
sauntering
onto
the white house lawn
then
rising like a phoenix
into
an election sun
seeking
voters’ sympathy
within
the confines
of
a taxpayer sponsored
hypochondriac haven
but
alas
the bones
were misdiagnosed
necessitating
a hasty return
to
the white house
to
inquire
about
a divination
for
the nation

 

nyctophobia…

count
the heartbeats
passing
before you
as if
each
beat
is the sound
of
their footsteps
feel
their pulse
in
the blinks
of
their eyes
the
flow of their existence
in
their facial
postures
and
their demise
in
the silence
of
night
that darkness
where
you’re
unable
to
sleep
for
fear
of
your own death
now i lay me
down
to sleep

 

herd immunity…

group resistant to
the rule of law and justice
because of their badge

 

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

 

]

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

 

 

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

 

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