those above the law…

you’re vinegar drops
on the crucifix of time
our blood warmed your feet
but shed blood turns to lava
and so our fate will be yours

 

tomb raiders…

like locusts
that
devour every living thing
grave robbers
have set upon
the land
they’ve come
in waves
the first
were
those
just seeking
the finest treasures
all the while
spray painting graffitii
to cover up
all the sacred symbols
the second wave
was comprised
of
magistrates
ministers of the law
seeking
personal glorification
by
possessing
those things that would
extend their power
in the eyes
of
others
the last wave
were common men
tearing
through the tomb
seeking
scraps
whatever
tossed aside
by
those
whose actions
had taken
justice
and
freedom
from
the nation

 

more acts of treason…

several
graves
hold
the souls
of
your
sons
and
daughters
war
executions
paid for
by
the president’s
friend
it has been
said
one
should be
judged
by
the company
you
keep

misinformation…

from broken windows
fear’s eyes peer into the night
seeing what’s not there
for ghost stories have been told
by those who thrive upon lies

 

the gnat’s complaint…

these webs
are
so unjust
flies
always die
staring
into
my eyes
with
the most
incriminating looks
as if
i
were the one
who spun
this web
but
i
and
those generations
before me
have been
trapped
within
these fibers
of
lies and promises
for
centuries
had i
been born
with
more mass
i
would have flown
right through
this
social web
no more
inconvenienced
than
needing
a quick shower
afterwards
but
that is not the case
i
linger here
as
a bit of amusement
and
as
a morsel
for
a boring day
a systemic slave
the quintessential
essential worker
to be
devoured
or
left
to
just
decay
and
die

 

sympathizers…

each took
a turn
to pound
the nails
into
the hands
and
feet
none chose
to
voice concern
for
their part
in this foul deed
since
each
blooded hand
obtained
personal gain
and
fame
for the crucifixion
of
the nation

 

free will…

outside an open grave
sun burns a man’s rotting corpse
there’s no one to grieve
dried fingers clutch coins of gold
he dug this grave years ago

 

can’t sleep…

i’m just lying here
reviewing how life’s been spent
revisiting days
when decisions were made and
wondering which ones i made

 

from the window an old pokey pickup truck…

i’ve spent
quite a few
sleepless nights
during
this
quarantine period
trying
to
measure aspects
of
my life
and
wondering
how others
could have
just
now
begun
to
appreciate
the struggles confronting
those
all around them
since
aunt bea
has lived
through
so much
i thought
i’d give her
call
and
asked
her opinion
aunt bea
said
the pace
of
our daily routines
blurs
our views
of
of life’s journey
keeping
what we’ve seen
or
what
we could have seen
out of focus
perhaps
the pandemic has
forced us
to
slow down
and
see
what’s been
right
in front of us
the whole time
we just
needed
to slow down
a bit
to feel
the pain
of
others