In the distance, outside the door to
your basement, a crowd
la-la's
the Star Spangled Banner.

All swirl-eyed, and promising water,
a circled-hiss, a lie.
Fox-headed, and painting Old Glory
onto his chest, to the amazement
of even the millionaires.

In a dark room, eyes roll back,
towards Wellesley. Eternally, hung
on the wall. The
patriarch, shaking the hands of
your grandfather.
Dreaming of the
late 1960s.

The mountain, surrounded by
clouds.
The Gods throw bolts, and
fireworks, at-You, through the
television set.

From the cinder, on the lawn,
of a house, on-fire and crumbling,
the kids
are catching flame.

And if all goes as planned then
the bonfire's a beacon,
we're not going anywhere.

We are the rocket's red glare.
Garnering hope from those
driving to work.
Hitting the light switch, to
see the results.
Trying to look for America.

Bernie 2016

When we've gone astray on distant shores,
          Our loved ones lost, our hearts ignored,
                 When our fears put us to chase. 
              Sometimes we want nothing more
               Than to visit that same old place.

2/15/16

it was an inevitability
that we'd unearth the evidence
to validate Einstein's theory
of general relativity.

three cheers for the
method of science,
an appliance that
liberates and enlightens,
suffocating the miasma
of dogmatic parasitism.

pariahs can't stand beneath
the weight of empirical data.
a culture of imperialism
intoxicating inane idiots,
inundated by asinine philosophy.

ideologues instigating turmoil—
vainly believing
an intergalactic being
created the cosmos
in seven days for the
predestined elect.

to insist inanely that the legacy
of our existence could be measured
in seven millennia
is to extinguish the light
from the majority
of our neighboring galaxies.

you read the opening lines
of your holy text too literally.
open your mind to the poetry
of a reality that no deity
could ever breathe into existence.

we are not special.
our fate is tied to a
planet choking on CO2
and you deny the truth
in the same breath you
disparage any challenge
to your impotent,
imaginary friend.

**** sapiens—
mere animals
cursed with
conscience.

if you would deny
the ancestral history
of our evolutionary biology
simply on the premise
that it's “only a theory,”
then i'd invite you to put
your vain hypothesis
to the test and take a long walk
off a short bridge.
perhaps the theory of gravity
will provide with you some clarity.

Now between writings I create a space
so could read in ease and not in stress
to fill me with things I had less
not let my mind be drowned by pace.

Now between writings I create a space
it lessens the hurry kills the stress
helps to see ways find new address
discover light in untrod recess.

Now between writings I create a space
it shows me the order clears the mess
I think now more write down less
my soul is happy to be out of the race.

Now between writings I create a space
it reinvents ways kills the stress
lets me to places I didn't access
of unseen tears unread happiness.