Art is a creature—built

from bones of failure, tied

with tendons of tireless days, wrapped

by fiber upon fiber of hopeful nights, filled

with blood of laughter and despair, pumped

by a heart in a beloved cage, neglected

at the behest of a brain—crawling

through a maze, trying

to stumble and walk

and run and jump

and fly and

land

oh to be a Supreme
being, sitting guilty
of nothing, judging
every person, place, & thing
from silence, quietly
whispering violence
door to door, hidden
above the highest floor,
behind words of deceased
"thoughtful" "men";
hallways full of rooms
full of nothing, never
an ounce of light, just
a din of soft shouts
beneath stolen silverware;
oh to be Supreme, being
judged by nothing, not
even a thing, not
even justice, not
even a Supreme being, not
seeing a person, nowhere,
never; oh, to be a Supreme
being is a nightmare
masquerading as a dream

Falling, eyes
Peeled, bawling
Down, rain
After rain, mud

Falling, feet
Caked, trawling
Down, mile
After mile, stone

Falling, shoulders
Sheared, hauling
Down, blade
After blade, blood

Falling, arms
Piled, crawling
Down, pound
After pound, bone

Falling, guts
Jammed, galling
Down, turn
After turn, waste

Falling, digits
Hacked, stalling
Down, class
After class, cache

Falling, crowns
Cracked, calling
Down, hope
After hope, haste

Falling, trunks
Burned, palling
Down, mass
After mass, ash

Falling, frames
Coiled, sprawling
Down, sec
After sec, gravity

Rising

psst, bet on the game
bet on the game
big bet, big win
come on, bet on the game
(got a problem with
betting on games?)
hey, bet on the game!
hurry up, bet on the game
you know you can
bet on the game
(if you have a problem
with betting on games—)
get in here, we're
betting on the game
betting on the game
(call this number
in case you're having
trouble) it's almost
over, bet on the game
bet on the game
the odds are good
just bet on the game
(we support you)
you can bet on it

we're dead
wrong--deadly
throngs, heading
for death--& long-
itude & latitude's
gone; hope to hope to
hope again; carried
on wind, waves; ferried
in mind; waves, long-
ing kind waves;
shall we find ways
to not be dead
wrong? are the days
too short or two longs
repeating too loudly?
too proudly? too cloudly?
but Earth sang songs long
ago; She sings again,
bellowing: you're deadly
wrong.

the architecture of truth falls flat
against the flourish of surrounding lies,
sparkling and glinting in the light,
drawing our gaze and jutting
their corners into compositions,
casting shadows across the truth below.

but the shoddy foundations of lies
are prone to failure and no matter
how fashionable or stylish,
time will reduce them to dust,
claiming those within their walls,
while the foundations of truth endure
time's assault like tardigrades
in the vacuum of space.

so the market of falsehoods grows,
ever eager
to keep the truth
from being bought
for as long
as possible--
let alone believed.

Wash your hands / Don't touch your face
Touch your face / Touch your face
Wash your hands / Don't touch your face / or face corona

(sing in the tune of London Bridge is Falling Down)