Humpty Trumpty
sat on his wall
bleating and blathering,
condemning us all.

"I know the way,
I'm better than you,"
Tweeted he every night
over his golf course view.

"I don't care for
Mexicans,
Muslims,
and not so much
Jews...
Well, at least not the Dems and
those on the
'news'.

I prefer instead
those painted orange,
like me,
in fine Italian shoes.

I'm the President now,
I decide
if the sky stays blue...
not the the artists or the scientists...
and certainly not
you.

I'll make this Country great again!
You'll see,
I know what to do!
Put your faith in me,
a 'Billionaire'!
I promise,
I'll tell you true!"

Hollered he up high,
his chubby fingers crossed,
as his great jowels blubbered,
and his voice quaked with frost.

"I wonder," thought I,
reading his alternate 'facts' of the day,

"Maybe he wouldn't be so grumpy
if his daddy had loved him more,
or at all,
or maybe,
just maybe,
if his fat greedy hands
weren't so
*******
small."

I hate being right about things
that I don’t want to be right about

Shame on me.
Guess I should’ve known better than to hope.

how do i witness these seasons again,
without you, the one who changes them.

I have no desire to eat,
When the dollar keeps
getting higher,
Another night of fighting sleep,
Father, my eyes are so tired,
So much time I've wasted,
I haven't done enough,
enough to make my life count.

Dear Jesus, I can feel your pain,
Does this ink bleed in vain,
I don't understand...
why I can't let go,
if it's all in your hands,
I'm not complaining,
Yet I can't explain it.

Before I could careless,
if tomorrow never came,
Now it's different,
I worry if I close my eyes,
that they won't open to see another
blue sky,
Oh Jesus, does it even matter at all,
since you already know who will & who won't fall.
Will my soul still breathe,
if my body, it should leave.

I can't breathe in,
My thoughts are spinning,
I need a bite to eat,
I need some sleep,
But I'm afraid I'll miss a chance
to fix what I broke in the past.

Father, my eyes are too tired,
too weak to weep,
I won't risk losing a chance,
by closing these eyes tonight,
Don't let this ink bleed in vain,
show me how to do it right,
and I will this time.

I don't know how to let go
of things I don't own, of thing's
I didn't know,
I don't know how to let go
of what thing's that I have,
I don't know how to let go
of the thing's I know.
I know You are in control,
Oh God, I'm in debt,
Make me pay what I owe
before from my body,
it's time for my soul to go.

caught between screens
like a rock and a hard place
laced with beams of green,
the command line screams into
dark color schemes that maintain
a clean theme of extreme
control
in a world lacking

whoami
to say sudo i'm
just the pseudo-king of
all the pings
i see'em sing ICMP but
the ether stream contains
more than pings,
no it flings about
all the things modernity
can't think without
like some machined spring
spewing strings
made up of  
every dream we need
fresh from the
version-controlled source

the click clack of
mechanical keys on
a thick black
switch-backed board
in tic tac mint condition
is the sound of
strict syntax enforced,
if there's a problem
you fix that,
else the big bad bugs
will kick back with
sick bags of tricks
that make you
wish that there was better
logging for life's mistakes