important symbolically for politics…

words of condolence and shared sorrow
placing flowers on a martyr’s grave
promising justice and change
but in the end
nothing but gold gilding on unceasing death

 

 

re-gifting…

i’ve seen it before
and
as soon as you
started
to unwrap it
i realized
it was
a re-gift
that
promise
of
freedom

 

 

societal prophecy…

arbitrary moments
of
death
arrhythmic heartbeats
of
hope
loss consciousness
of
tomorrow
with
staggering steps
throughout
today
chapped lips
and
tongue dried
unable
to
speak
or
pray
like a child
stares
from beneath
the covers
of
night’s fears
expecting
either
saints
or
demons
but
finds
only
what was there
in
the beginning
apparitions
of
lies
told

 

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

 

is you stupid or what…

 

child
didn’t your
mom
or
dad
tell you
’bout
politicians
their words
are
like those
of
a used car salesmen
everything’s fine
until
you
drive that hunk
of
painted rusty metal
off
the lot
then
all bets are off
and
the promised warranty
now seems to be written
with
invisible ink

 

the book of dying 1:10…

so death decided to send angels
death’s fallen angels the soulless men
whose words enamored but were empty
blinding the eyes to living corpses

 

hologram man…

boast of what’s to come
promises that eden’s ours
but no true substance
no sustainable image
unable to touch or feel

 

emperor’s new clothes…

Public Domain Image: Eckersberg 1841

i stopped by
aunt bea’s
this afternoon
on my way home
from work
i was telling her
about
an amazon patent
on
a dressing mirror
that
provides you
with
virtual clothes
aunt bea
said
honey
there’s nothing new
in that
politicians
for years
have been providing
the public
with a variety
of
virtual wares

discovery…

for centuries
black
tortured hands
have dug
in life’s
obsidian
soil
souls
seeking
the sacred grave
where
liber lays
but
each tomb
opened
held
only
the ashes
of
other
ancestor’s
dreams
ancestors
who sought
manifest equality
but found
only
a mass grave
holding
the cinders
of
their
ancestor’s
dreams

with the end in sight….

i’ve begun
to count
each step
i take
not with
one
of
those fancy
exercise watches
but
on paper
with
black tick marks
totalled
for the day
it’s a way
of reminding myself
that i’m still alive
though
inside
a glass-walled prison
of
social expectation
a prison
that continues
to feed the poor
on political gruel
and
war’s
soylent green
while
a minority
enjoys
what was
promised
to all
ah
the all
tapping white canes
of comprehension
against
the political hollow curbs
of a make-believe
cities of gold
all the while
walking
on the edge of a cliff
with
so few steps
to the abyss