What demands our attention today?  
A war devoid of consequences,  
Or a history shaped by creationism?  
A stillbirth born without shame?  
Vivid pain and haunting memories linger.  
A wedding absent of both bride and groom—  
Did we call for the ceremony too soon?  

The Gen Z lifestyle is riddled with artificial deceptions.  
An unforgettable presidential race stands as a historical disgrace.  
Did the pope truly have a closed casket,  
Or was it merely a non-cadaver?  

Platforms like Facebook are swarming with scammers—  
More than we've ever witnessed before.  
Referrals are obsolete;  
Being broke has become a norm,  
Your wallet may as well be smoking.  
Buy one, get one free—Temu’s prices tempt us all.  
This is the reality of U.S.-China trade tariffs.  

Are our lives dictated by the Bollywood Referrals Act?  
Isn’t that the truth?  
Comsi comsa.

Hook him up to the machine.
Shock his brain into
mediocrity.
Death stalks him;
he is aware.
There is too much
flash in his eyes.
His brain needs a reboot;
he needs to forget,
like a goldfish, like
a monkey in the zoo.
Hook him up to the machine.
He is too sentimental.
Salmon swim in his blood;
he has a paisley heart,
and a tie-dye soul.
He can smell colors.
Hook him up to the machine.
He has Van Gogh eyes, and
a Bukowski gut; he walks
like he's lost in a maze;
hunchback sadness,
butcher knife nerves,
Hook him up to the machine.
He believes in love,
and has too much trust.
His vivid green memory
is a curse, we need to
crash it, **** the eternal spring.
Hook him up to
the machine.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

               One Shouldn’t Complain – But I’m Going to Complain


           It will not bother me in the hour of death to reflect that I have
           been “had for a sucker”…but it would be a torment to know
           that (I) had refused even one person in need.

                               -C. S. Lewis, Letters to an American Lady


Do you sometimes feel that you are on call
Twenty-five hours a day, on days you don’t even have
For all the needs and moods and whims and wants
Of clingy people who disapprove of you anyway?

When you come in from work, someone needs a ride
When you wake up at dawn, someone’s battery is dead
Someone needs a ten – could you make it a twenty?
And say, could you take my kid to school today?

For you The Golden Rule is a golden letter -
Still, everyone agrees, you could have helped them better

This field we're in is but a test
Where we'll come clean or turn out a mess
So many things we must address
Which way do you lean

Some struggle strong along the way
While others say it's a piece of cake
There's much to gain from our mistakes
Either erase or press repeat

How many here would volunteer
When what's ahead is none to clear
In the wondering of, what are we doing here
The water's getting deep

With life in hand, we take it on the chin
More than once if not then and again
If not a total loss, does that mean we win
In all the things we need

Feel free to add it to the list
One way or another we'll make it through this
Don't change the channel, it is but a test
In the wiping of our slates clean

Tomorrow is
nebulous at best.
A dream of one
who still sleeps.
You are alive now.
Awake in this fresh
green world.
In the planning, we
forget to live.

Ask the mice and men
how plans go.
There are traps and
trivialities that keep
you from carrying on.
Funny things happen on
the way to the bank.
My mom died while
grocery shopping.

Today, peers back at
you from the mirror.
Breath and heartbeat.
Desire and passion.
No one survives this
story.
You're the author and the
protagonist, write it
well.

Turn out the lights
catch the night’s bequest

Train your eyes on the horizon
sunrise is approaching

Notice how blue is shading
from deep to pale

There are no shadows
Cast by the moon
Hiding behind the clouds

Sounds reverberate from
an airplane drifting
to a landing

Morning’s quiet
regains the stage

Until a Robin chirps
a wake-up call

Sunrise is approaching
advancing from east to west
lighting the sky

Rocks whiten to become obvious
against the pallid grass of winter
robbed of nutrition by the cold of January

No orb announces today
the sun is rising, although hidden
behind dense condensation

The orange orb of the sun
will not flood the skyline

The fever of night
has become the pale of the day

Where was white rabbit ?

The girl that breathes Canal street's Spanish moss and dances to Zydeco

I fumbled , tripped on the goal line
all tangled in thorns

Now charged to walk late night's on Jubilee

The fog plays tricks behind facades of listless taunts of truth

I gaze through haze but swirls of vapor twist the thoughts

***** , blues , voodoo , jazz and you ,
my white rabbit