televised crimes against humanity…

steel clad boots
on
city streets
black batons
strike
the faces
of
freedom
faces
shrouded
in
clouds of teargas
and
flash grenades
young warriors
against
trump’s schutzstaffel
mercenaries
masquerading
as
law-abiding agents
of
justice
but
merely
soldiers of fortune
contracted
to
carry out
a fascist
oppression
of
the rights
of
american citizens
all
this
to appease
one
man’s lust
for
power
and
the need
to play
the game
and
to win
the game
at
any cost

 

the black rose…

beauty so unique
gardeners chose to ignore it
it died from neglect

 

without a window…

rancid air fills lungs
what’s outside makes no difference
what’s said is what’s real
question none of existence
when the bell rings salivate

 

an honest mistake…

presidential press drone
explains
the fat guy
thought
portland
was
in afghanistan
his mercenaries
were
well trained
for
murder
but not
for
reasonable reactions
to
unarmed citizens
citizens
doing what
our
forefathers
did
when
they were faced
with
the tyranny
of
an imperial regime

 

law enforcement…

lost count
my soul’s numb
and
my lips
are
dried out
i tried
to read
all the names
of
those
murdered
on
the streets
can’t cry
anymore
anger’s dried my tears
for
i can still hear
the austrian glocks
silencing
the calmness
as
mother’s children
litter
life’s last moments
at
the hands
of
those sworn
to
serve
and
protect

 

lynchings…

with eyes
that’s
seen too much pain
the old man
said
i’ve seen
these things
before
the strange fruit
that
hangs
from
the poplar tree
most times
its
skin is charred
or
covered with
tar
but always
some kind
of
whore’s around
smearing
red lies
on
the lips
of
others
these days
the whore’s
in
the white house
helping
to lynch
the press
and
everyone
who
seeks
to be
free

 

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

 

inveterate…

has the world
changed
or
just
our
awareness
of
the world
the wounds
have always been there
some folks
just needed
a bit
of
salt
to feel them

 

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