in your moment of regret…

the tomb has been sealed
only a memory’s left
no words can be heard
no old promises fulfilled
as they say you had your chance

 

 

inconclusive bullet results…

here’s the point my friend
when you sleep with the devil 
the devil’s child’s spawned

 

 

pro-lifers …

some folks won’t let go
of wanting or being in
a state owned harem

 

 

king george’s court…

there’s some confusion
’bout who when and where we are
this ain’t no england
and we ain’t no one’s subjects
but boston harbor’s still there

behavioral statistics…

an algorithm…
the illusion of freedom
preprogrammed humans

 

the room…

we rent this space
occupying it briefly
but everything
in the room
is ours
from
the furnishings
to
random thoughts
even
the broken dreams
scattered
throughout
the years
are
ours
so it seems strange
that we cannot share
this
small space
with whom
we choose
those
who pretend
to be our landlords
keep insisting
that
their rules
must
be followed
rules
designed
for their pleasure
and
their pleasure
is
power over others
but
we
pay the rent

 

 

linguistic projection…

you’re talking as if
i said the words in your head
your words ain’t my words

 

 

change management…

the dialogue’s changed
from plans for the next ten years
to the last ten years

bank-owned property…

from afar looks fine
but vermin have destroyed it
democracy’s house
is a façade of freedom 
totally decayed inside

 

 

jenga…

quite a simple game
pull or push for what you want
to get to the top
just like society’s rules
where everything’s tumbling down