the final etching…

each day
he entered
his studio
like
a man
pushing his way
onto
a subway car
back arched
with
determined steps
and
each day
he followed
the same routines
he arranged
papers
and
pencils
for
his
personal project
then
proceeded
to do
the commercial
etchings
that paid the bills
taking small breaks
to make
sketches
for his
real
artistic project
but
turning quickly
from
such daydreams
to
the real work at hand
by day’s end
he had erased
the sketches
never good enough
the years
soon
took their toll
on his hands
and
he retired
was
a winter’s morning
when he entered
his studio
inspired
by a night’s vision
he began to sketch
what
had escaped him
all these years
he was found
slumped over
an
unfinished drawing

ain’t no alternate constitution for charges of treason…

the brown bag prophet
stopped me
and
said
all this discussion
about
people not
applauding
the president’s
incoherent ramblings
the other night
ramblings
leaving
most of them
stunned
in their seats
seems
to be
as they like
to say
a gross misrepresentation
for
this ain’t about
protocol
it’s about
freedom
see
for
those folks
in
washington
that
ain’t read
the constitution
i ain’t gotta
stand
applaud
or
yell out
sieg heil
when the
president
say something stupid
or
presents some alternate fact
and
it
sure ain’t
un-american
to resist tyranny
but
what
is
un-american
and
treasonous
is to
attempt
to subjugate
the people
of this nation
with
a political dogma
of
blind allegiance
to
a single person
instead
of
true
open-minded allegiance
to
the nation
and
to its people
wonder why
they don’t put
that
in
a memo

seekers of the golden fleece or dreamers of america…

a half-hearted
attempt
at
existence
is
perhaps
the best descriptor
of
dreamers’ lives
always constrained
by
the expectations
of
others in society
those
producers
who provide
the script
for
the everyday roles
dreamers play
on
center stage
most
daydream scenes
include
a house
with
adoring family provided
or
a crowded city apartment
in
an upscale
section of town
while
understudy dreamers
are
off-stage
imprisoned in the wings
and
spend much
of
their time
rehearsing their lines
and
plotting or praying for
bad luck
to befall
the principal characters
so that
a clever understudy
might become
the replacement
and
stand proudly
in
the limelight
an event
that rarely occurs
but
the slight chance
keeps
them rehearsing
their improbable lines
and
appropriately dressed
for
the opportunity
as well as
compliant
to
the producers’ instructions
who
remind them
during their bouts
with
depression
that
their potential improbable role
is far better
than
being one
of
life’s janitorial staff
or
a homeless starving actor
with no role
at all

chasing our tails…

we invent things
to
believe in
it’s the nature
of
man
the void we live in
makes
it necessary
to
have some
purpose
in
the universe
a universe
where
even the planets
and
stars
are surrounded
by
the dark
and
airless
void
we
search for others
on distant stars
not
so much for
scientific reasons
but
in the hopes
that
they
may have found
the
purpose
which
has
eluded us
till then
we continue
to
invent things
to
believe in

attempted obstruction of justice…

swearing under oath
that what was seen was a lie
he dropped the mirror

tale of two sets of clowns…

tomorrow
the circus
will come to town
but
there’ll be no clowns
for
many
have taken jobs
in the movies
playing
sinister characters
who crawl
from
dark spaces
with
rather
unfriendly faces
scaring
little children
who alas
wet their beds
when left
alone
without
a nightlight
others
have found
similar jobs
in
washington
scaring
the hell
out of us all
with
the same
unfortunate
biological response