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 Aug 2018
laura
I'm a table, I'm a bench
I'm an appliance with many uses
I'm a dead girl in the front seat
of your Cadillac

Was hoping to get dicked down
by your Master Sword but
cell connection's kind of spotty
I'll clean it with my pics because I want to eat

spoiling your paradise
tie me down and school me
make me clean your mess
is this what you want?
 Aug 2018
Sjr1000
My love,
is a blackberry bramble
A control freak
Taking over everywhere
Knocking down fences
to follow the sun
to get to their destination.

Thorns with hooks and barbs
Which will slice you cut you
pierce you and not let go
if you get too close

But, along the way
Will deliver to you
the sweetest berries you'll ever know.
 Aug 2018
Hank Helman
500 years ago,
On a shoreline in northern Peru
More than 140 children,
Were ritually sacrificed,
Their chests sliced open,
From the sternum,
And their hearts ripped out,
Literally, all in one day.

In America over 5000 catholic priests
Have been reliably identified,
As child rapists,
And that's just since 1950.
And only in one country.

Over 300,000 child soldiers exist today.
The worst of the worst,
Had to ****** their parents,
On the day of their abduction.
Think about cutting open your father's throat,
And watching him bleed at your feet.
Over 30% of child soldiers are girls.

This poem won't trend,
Almost no one will care,
And I am certainly no saviour.

But somehow, someday, somewhere,
The essence of us must change.
Only art can save us.
I know that now.
Enough.
When the moon retires running her length
the river lies a fishbone on the white plate
feebly breathing like the slosh from oars,
the shadow digs a hole in the bush.

The faintest chill rattles don't escape
and the chatters dull as broken notes,
the shadow picks up from the mist
with the intent of an absorbed dreamer.

The gold diggers in that forbidden land
filter their preys keen to fill some more
from the mines lining the grey riverbank
with each reap a little closer to attainment.

The precise compass weighs the measure
tightening the muscles into a symphony
for that climb onto the ****** in one spring
before stealing the stilled, deep into silence.
 Aug 2018
zebra
REPUBLICANS
Former South Carolina GOP leader
kills dog to please God
Rob Beschizza

GERMANY
Germany's top domestic spy advised far right xenophobic political party on how to avoid being billed as "extremists"
Cory Doctorow

RUSSIA
Guy who pretends to ****** people for a living named Russian Goodwill ambassador
Seamus Bellamy  

BUSINESS
We're going to be eating bugs really soon now, again
Cory Doctorow


POLICE
Surveillance camera shows off-duty NYPD cop dropping a weapon near man he shot in the face
Rob Beschizza

SCHOLARSHIP
When should the press pay attention to trolls, lies and disinformation?
Cory Doctoro

CORRUPTION
Wells Fargo: we stole houses and we're being investigated for ***** low-income housing credits
Cory Doctorow


LATE STAGE CAPITALISM
How Jpay gouges prisoners' families for "digital postage stamps"
Cory Doctorow

ALEX JONES
Alex Jones is suing the parents of a Sandy Hook victim for $100,000
Gina Loukareas


***
:(
an appropriation
 Aug 2018
Wk kortas
Together we probed mysteries of the dark
Though you said true love was for losers and saps
(Oh God how I loved you, my Joan Jett of Arc.)

You moaned like a ****** those nights in the park
As I tried to snare you with all of love’s traps.
Together we probed mysteries of the dark.

I was a way station, no more than a lark,
Though I searched your eyes for a trace of perhaps.
(Oh God how I loved you, my Joan Jett of Arc.)

I sought to engender romance’s first spark
In the wake of unfettered zippers and snaps.
Together we probed mysteries of the dark

Our orbit of something completed its arc;
I sang Ave Maria, you whistled Taps.
(Oh God how I loved you, my Joan Jett of Arc.)

One morning the truth hit—cold, brutal and stark;
You’d left unannounced, leaving me to collapse.
Together we probed mysteries of the dark
(Oh God how I loved you, my Joan Jett of Arc.)
With apologies to Clem Snide...well, not to mention pretty much everyone else, truth be told.
 Aug 2018
MicMag
Blessed is she who surrenders last coin
Giving from lack rather than plenty

Blessed is he who takes inspiration
Single gift multiplied into many

Blessed are those who pass these along
Money dispersed round the earth

Blessed are those who give correct change
Insist you just pay what it's worth

So now blessed am I as I walk along
Her last coin nestled in hand

And when she looks at me with pleading eyes
I withhold, cause here begging is banned
Poem inspired by:
- the biblical story of the widow's offering (Luke 21)
- seeing a friend's generous spirit
- my cold calloused heart
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