He says "Geek Poet!
Leave the politics alone
Stick to Pop culture"

Cousin.
Politics ARE Pop culture.
don't you see?

in a world where businesses
buy natural disaster insurance
In fear of presidential tweets
McDonald's burger vending machines
You think this isn't dystopia?

We play games to escape.
where can we go
when the "real world"
is just as scary
upside down?

Tell me, Cousin.
Where do you write your poetry?
is it safe?

Do you surround yourself with muses?
back turned to a naked woman?
is there whiskey on the bar,
A journal,
your favorite pen?
Your cell phone,
clentching in the public restroom?

because no matter where you are.
that sanctuary
is a ******* pillow fort
compared to the Fort Knox
of an artists imagination

politics ARE pop culture
China is throwing unfathomable
amounts of money into Propaganda
targeting millennials though memes.
Fish don't see water, remember?

You are telling me
I can't write about politics.
There are Americans
who have never voted,
Radical left and right facebook profiles
protecting and attacking A Racist,
selfish, blemish on our history.
you wonder why we are scared, Cousin?

You want to know why I am so loud?

I watch Men step alligator shoe
out of Boston limousines
Slicked back hair straight
from wolf of wallstreet
belligerent screaming
"I do what I Waaaaaaant!"
"She does what she waaaaaaaaaaaaants!"
"We do what we waaaaant!"

This is the world
we're escaping from.
Excuse me if I break
from the zombie jokes
The vampire romances
Focus on the dead bodies
in our own city, Cousin.

Our demons are real now.

dystopian literature
called for the 2017 election
as far back as the 1930s'

Senator Buzz Windrip
from "It can't happen here"
by Sinclair Lewis
makes promises
to "return America to a better time".
back in 1935

buying validity for his ideas
in airtime on the radio,
tarring those who disagree,
as tools of mother russia,

dismissing woman,
as silly socialists.
naming the press
"a lot of irresponsible wind bags."

In the book "Parable of the talents",
Octavia butler Predicts a "Pox" In 2015
Wiping most of the population.
President Andrew Steele Jarret
promising to return the country
to an "Older Simpler time".
She wrote this book in 1998

Want to learn how to defeat Trump?
Read "Our Twisted Hero,"
by Yi Munyol

Read "In the Heart of the Valley of Love, "
by Cynthia Kadohata

All of these Dystopian fantasies
Prepare the Geeks
to rise up and fight.
Pop culture is the only thing saving us
Knowledge is the only thing saving us
Standing up,
Making art,
Being loud
is the only thing saving us
from the red button
in the orange hands
of the man who NEVER Had
the best words,

Because we do.

Repeat After me:

We The Artists
The Geeks who shall inherit
Swear to protect our words.
We will not bow,
bend,
or break.
Ink is the blood of prophets
The voice is a weapon

Excuse me if I fight
For education over distractraction.
Forgive me for preaching
Art as our gospel.

you can't Incite Revolution
by throwing dice at ghosts.

I am sick of being tall
because my friends
are too busy crawling
I'm putting all my stat points into
inspire

Let me incite placebo healing
for a small fraction
of the tortured
anxiety pretzels I walk along
each day.

I will spit
on anxiety paper-cuts
from this paperback of bigotry
in our future history
labeling myself neosporin prayin'
God,
PLEASE
let me be charismatic enough.

I played and was betrayed for a pittance
Stayed in the parade out of persistence
Gave up all charades of any resistance
This is how I earned my own existence
-
By selling myself by shelling my soul
One inch of survival a day for no self determination
One loaf of bread to let them make me hollow
One stream of **** to shovel from this hovel

I prayed for redemption stayed in this place
Strayed from my potential to maintain my space
Let them flay me alive till my empathy was displaced
And I became a clone of their perfect human race

Just a shadow self of everyone else with no voice
And no real face

Death becomes you,
So modest and frail
Caressing Last Rites
Laid out in Braille  

Wearing a gray suit
Free hand pulling the hem taut  
Clunky black shoes
Hair tied in a knot

Distress's mistress
With barren lips
Lust glistening from her eyes
Cleverly drips

Mouth opened just enough
To notice the absence of sound
Seized words  
Left in impound

A last little twitch
Consumes an entire room
Giving away spring
Before the lilac had a chance to bloom

My paper boat is sinking
In the mile deep salt
I'll drown soon
The moon
Only watches
Lusts
for the
Sun

One thing I learned
in my long college career
is that
I don't know a thing

I cannot read minds
nor fix this world
I still fall back to
this broken poetry

The place to be
we thought as youth
though in this life
it's a choice we choose

where you desire to be
is a figment of reality
a plan so mismal
to the burning sun

What faith you lack,
oh guilty one
on this track of life
you chose death!

In this college degree
I learned to see
not through intellect
but through emptiness

Poetry flows like gentle tides
before a hurricane
her sandy shores
anticipate

Three jumps left
and two jumps right
the lord speaks
and I follow

Milk moonlight of divine delight
silky sheets of satin rose
nerves underneath
emit electricity
and birth

Lovers in my past
don't leave my mind
their faces exist
etched in time

Sink like a stone
through deep waters
fall to her blackness
and the dark sea's wonders

thin skin, a lighted hook
neon guppies glitter
in florescent
store light

Take heed when he calls
for the depressed ones
in your life
call

Always help
those in need
for you never know
when you, it could be

Solomon wrote
songs and poetry
they flowed from thought
as divine symphony
of what does this teach you of women?
Solomon had the most
of any man

Be true to yourself
and your dreams will come
not the dreams you've planned
but the one's- you stumble upon

Boardwalk beach goers
Strolled in ball caps
And in wide-brimmed hats
And in flip flops
And in cover-ups casually tied over low-slung bikinis
Lining the railing of the weathered pier
Eyes half closed, hands folded, heads atilt
Shoulders squared to a fading sun
A familiar form among the silhouettes
Twenty years hence
A cascade of raven hair
A billowing summer dress
My single breath
Then across rutted planks
To finally slake the thirst for another and
Be free of the malfeased heart
The lilt of perfume
Light, breathless, familiar
Transported back through time
To burn white hot again
Only to blanch at the precipice
Before the gray water
Silent