some nasty scars…

malpractice

beneath the layers
of red white and blue fabric
are some serious wounds
that have not completely healed
and though they are kept concealed
they’re ever-present
oozing an infectious hate
into the bloodstream
of even those not yet born
part of their inheritance
an inheritance
of denied national crimes
covered over with
the fabric of myths and lies
revisions to history
protection rewrites
turning criminals into
national martyrs
while the true martyrs that died
are ignored cuz it’s bad press
the founding fathers
started this whole mess so it’s
not too surprising
scars are deeply embedded
into the nation’s body
what’s most upsetting
is it appears that gangrene’s
in the nation’s mind
those once thought to be insane
now are heralded as leaders
surely this maddness
is a harbinger of death
the death of freedom
and of all our aspirations
for a true democracy

 

 

inconsequential…

inconsequential

had you known the truth
you would have refused to die
for freedom’s facade
your final flag draped coffin
would hold just their empty lies

 

 

fantasied conversations…

fantasied conversations

not even
dawn
yet
and
there
they go
again 
those
conversations
between
the two of us
that
won’t
ever happen
the ones
where
i get to tell
my side
of
the story
oh
that’s not
the
fantasy
the real
unbelievable bit
is
that
you
actually
listened
in
the dream

 

 

fear #2…

fear_2

sounds in the night
those
like
someone
moving around
oh it’s
just
the house settling
or
the wind
but it’s
a windless night
so
sounds
without
a logical explanation
quickly
convert
to those
childhood stories
oh
not the fairytales
but
the ones told
by
cantankerous uncles
engaged
in
scaring
the bejesus
out of
over confident teens
young males
whose
alpha status
is being tested
by
a group
of
old men
holding court
in
gramma’s old house
where
they too
first learned
the stories
now embellished
to
fit the times
and
of course
with the knowledge
that
the feral cats
always
wander around
this
time of night

a simple choice…

a simple choice

if we gather up
all
the helpless children
of
the world
and
place
their starving bodies
into
a pit
telling you
that
only a handful
can be saved
then
ask you
who shall we save
most
of you
would choose
the ones
that
look
the most
like you
some of you
will
protest
and
declare that
you
would save
a broad spectrum
of
children
not dependent
upon
race
but
look into that pit again
stare
into those
sad emaciated eyes
tears dried on skin
and tell me again
skin
would not be considered