Some American Dream

Why should I be so lucky?
Standing here rinsing off the dishes
from last night to load them
in the Automatic Machine then
Reheat the meat
from last night even though
now I must eat it
without sauce

Because my clumsy husband
broke the jar on the kitchen floor
before he went to work

Why should I be so lucky?
to be the one who rushes to
Grab the broom
from our large pantry
to wipe up the mess from our
Beige ceramic tile
so he’s not late

Why should I be so lucky?
When She, that unfortunate woman
right there on my
flat screen TV
Sold a kidney today for food
Since she’s too old now
to feed her children
by getting Screwed

A Commuter’s Lament

Have you ever known the peace of a country dawn?
Or heard the melody of nature’s song?
Or felt the stars on a midnight’s meadow?

I say you have not!

For if so, you would not make me choose
The cement of your cities
Over the flowers in my fields
Or the roar of your traffic
Over the buzz in my gardens
Or the prison of your office
Over the breeze in my heart
Or the intransigence of your schools
Over the wisdom of my soul

Yet if I trust it’s only in your ignorance
Then I never confront your evil

4.20.20

Dear Baby Jesus,
may the Mighty Lords hear that
I do not consent!
My ancestors and brethren,
I do Concur, if had so consented,
did so Only under great Duress.

I don’t need chants or songs or vigilance to say simply
I do not consent!

I don’t need stomps or guns or fear of pestilence

Simply, truly, I do not consent!

Mark it, now, this day of your fake calendar event

To whatever twisted laws you’re still employing, truly

Fuck Off!

Period. End your story!

Drop those masks, and bow Before Me

For Nevermore will I implore thee
or any of your
Trauma masks
forever tranced
Before Me
NEVER

Technotron

Devils don’t want your invitation
Invite them in, with a sly grin

Cross this threshold, speak
With a nod, and a wink
Then watch them slink

Like bullies faced
No robbers chased

Just malingering fellows
Soon disgraced

They ride bicycles and tricycles
And hide upstage
like big, fat fools

Those left shoe ad-vices
Dices of lost reveries
knights and damsels
Still missing thee

Like troubadours sailing
Spin doctors full of bull
Aloft of air and ritual

When the parachute fails
The umbrella breaks
The entourage scurries

You’ll find in a hurry

Re-bowed to fake eternity
Teched into docility

Herded like sacrificial goats
Stampeded by sheep
Toward Tech’s moats

Made of sweet fragility

Bitch Discernment 101

She’s got Schlitz Malt Liquor, but
I’ve got a garden beyond your wildest imagination

She’ll make you hungover, but
I’ll make you wish you were dead

She unconsciously hates your lion, poisons him daily
I sneak him chunks of liver under the gate

And loosen the screws when no one’s looking

She says, “Shame on you!”
I say, “Bullshit!”

She says, ”You don’t deserve me.”
Out of spite.
I say, “I promise not to say I told you so.”
Out of respect.

She thinks you’ll drown out there
I think you’ll walk on water

She secretly covets your weakness
Because it makes her feel needed

I secretly covet your strength

Secretly, because
Check-mate

Not Fallen, Descended

They’re not there to pick you up
In fact it’s just the opposite

Like the little lamb stuck for
A split second before momma struts,
Then taps, then pounds, the ground
1 in 9, she hits, that sound

All the world’s your stage
In those tiny walls

Silly willies strutting through your mini malls
while calypso music streams,
in your fetid wet dreams

Those worn seams on your mini-skirt
Seems to have attracted a micro-stream,
scream, ding-a-ling,

Ding-dong. Macro-aggression. 
Master then micro-control your shamalangadingdong

Everything I sing will be to your misgiving
Micro-offense, to give the chance of defense

Rather than spell your negligence
Rock on the wall of your space fence

Even the old ladies speak of your diligence
Those frogs-a’cooking make a mad stench

Then, rock the wall of dense S-Oil
See who lasts a fortnight
Or, at all

Why?
Not because we care, at all
If, Boredom as our Master never spoke
Or, Soul as our deepest Mystery never woke

 

The Cost of Being Good Company

You sold the lie you bought the lie doesn’t really matter the lie is still the lie

Why we dance, to the song, or to the bullet

Aces & Eights, we do the hokey pokey, that’s what it’s all about

The game of fates, of soul’s lost-lost souls

paying the ultimate cost

Bored with the plants and the bees and the truely finer things

Driven to their greater, that they call the stars, life on Mars, mason jars

I had a once upon a time

At the very birth of the days of rhyme, and reason

And its nature, they are of season

Like the figure 8 times 9, like chimes

Me for you, and you for me, and all one big happy family

Should I catch a shooting star?  Should I bring it where you are?  I will.

The cost of being good company,

a dying pathetic cacophony of never could’s and never wills

I don’t like when they feel sorry for me

They just don’t see, it’s Persephone calling, and she needs my company

Don’t worry, I know her well

her cries and colors don’t scare me anymore

I know her toll strikes loud and hard

Her bite stings and her rhythm so slow

an excruciatingly low tempo

But, I dry her tears and she dries mine

and when the tears turn to sobs, she does not turn away

She is not afraid

There’s but one beam, or thread, how to say

The mind-buoyed

I know to trust, to bring me back up, someday

How do I know

It’s her colors, her subtle deep dark tones that tell me so

The dark gentle giant of the undertow

 

Celebrating Labor Day Poem

It’s Not Worth It

That job you do, all day, all week, all year

To pay a tax, buy a thing,

maybe a new car, or another diamond ring

It’s not worth it

But in this world we must pay to be alive

I know

To pay the rent, the food, the gas

But did you ever stop

And step off

And wonder . . . when did that start?

And why?

Have we always paid to be alive?

Who do the forest-dwelling natives of New Guinea pay?

What is their currency?

Our current sea

floating $$$ drowning debt

awash in toys and trucks

Hobby Lobby Walmart Disney

amusing ourselves . . .

. . . the Chinese love us . . .

to death

Hit the bottle, the pill, the porn

Retail therapy

Stress sells!

Hot off the presses new drug, new game, old tricks

Step right up

Shrink your head

Obamacare will pay

Promise you’ll be having fun again in no time

Circus coming to town

Celebrate!

Rinse, repeat

Back to school

ring around the rosy

Now sit still, now jump to the bell, now skip to my Lou

Simon says!

 

flight schedule screen turned on
Photo by Oscar Chan on Pexels.com