It springs from teachers giving
Out compliments like
Communion crackers at a
Vegas church,
Gold-starred papers with
Smiley face stickers and
No trace of
Criticism beyond “work on
Punctuation.”

It’s absurd.
For years we’re treated like
Endangered worms,
Told that we’re special but
Kept in closed boxes,
Eventually, spun into
Thick grey silk, stitched into the cloth
Wherever it’s wearing.

I’m frightened, and foolish,
And awful, and vain,
And nonsense, and not
Nearly enough to get by,
And I’m hoping
That nobody notices.

k

The scrape of the
Shower curtain’s slide is
Music to my ears.
This old cliché
Comes true when I
Hear the sound sampled in some
New song today. Every
Other up-beat makes
My speakers buzz, I
Spin the dial and
Breathe static.

My swing was still tied to
the arm of the
tree when they
put it through the cruncher that
made mulch.

It fell because it
was dead
for a long time, like
dad said
whenever he thought so.

I asked mom if Spot
got scared and
ran away and
she cried
and at night
told me everything dies,
but she was wrong
because I went to sleep
and dreamt he was alive.

For a moment
I thought my cigarette
had somehow set the tree ablaze (it
was actually the light picking out
the last bud red
with never-bloom). I
reached out with
licked finger tips,
foot on one branch arm
hooked around another,
to extinguish her but
didn't hear the
soft sizzle I expected.
I drew my hand back
sticky now with sweat
and a little sap.

I smoked the rest
then threw the **** to the roots below,
listend to it fizzle out
in the snow.

Oh, manifold incomparable dress,
O couvercle covering cowering flesh
Flap and fight and fly, oh
Imitate her soon-to-sigh.
Oh flowers patterned on
Some fabric thin to
The billow breeze, oh
Bumps on her knees.
My hand is well aware, don’t stop,
I love them there.

I am victim only to constant distractions,
restrictions, prescriptions, vicarious factors,
as various factions of elitism prescribe defeat
to the common man; the hard working talented
beaten upon by the self driven commerce land.
Businessmen, crooks, warlords and bankers;
victory purports itself the higher moral ground.
******* the world, lie on the crimson sand.

The brevity of riches in led laden ditches,
trenches v armistice; one man’s control over
cadets and lieutenants. Equality it seems
is general ignorance, propose roll reversal
and receive corporal punishment. Capital
interests will be met with bursaries, bail
out the banks and return to your knees,
put out your hands and beg for your feed.

If the top three percent own more wealth
than the lower half put together while
politicians claim to be fair-weather,
conclude that sincerities amiss, that
your representatives are on the pay roll
of profit driven lobbyists. Career crazed fat-cats
couldn’t care less if you're in tattered garments
or there’s a hole in your dress, their polished
boots carry them from vault to vault
while we fill another with oil-baron asphalt.

As social repression pushes populations
science progresses, enabling armed forces
to kettle us, cut us off and circle on horses.
Power-shifts across the globe become jaded
by investment with private militias and fascist
supremacists seizing resources from war
torn villages to fund their crude sourced
morality, migrants and refugee families
are vilified by ignorance forged in cynicism
caused by the inequality of education.

Here lie the symptoms of infinite regression,
hold mirror to gene-pool as it replicates
the same flawed equation, as populations
expire and conspire so does the problem.
Bombing a country without repercussions,
is as likely as a breaking the waters surface
without sending ripples to the adjacent atoms.
These are the dark ages of social stagnation.

Did you ever hear about ******* Lil?
She lived in ******* town on ******* hill,
She had a ******* dog and a ******* cat,
They fought all night with a ******* rat.

She had ******* hair on her ******* head.
She had a ******* dress that was poppy red:
She wore a snowbird hat and sleigh-riding clothes,
On her coat she wore a crimson, ******* rose.

Big gold chariots on the Milky Way,
Snakes and elephants silver and gray.
Oh the ******* blues they make me sad,
Oh the ******* blues make me feel bad.

Lil went to a snow party one cold night,
And the way she sniffed was sure a fright.
There was Hophead Mag with ***** Slim,
Kankakee Liz and Yen Shee Jim.

There was Morphine Sue and the Poppy Face Kid,
Climbed up snow ladders and down they skid;
There was the Stepladder Kit, a good six feet,
And the Sleigh-riding Sister who were hard to beat.

Along in the morning about half past three
They were all lit up like a Christmas tree;
Lil got home and started for bed,
Took another sniff and it knocked her dead.

They laid her out in her ******* clothes:
She wore a snowbird hat with a crimson rose;
On her headstone you’ll find this refrain:
She died as she lived, sniffing *******

At ***** ****'s and Sloppy Joe's
We drank our liquor straight,
Some went upstairs with Margery,
And some, alas, with Kate;
And two by two like cat and mouse
The homeless played at keeping house.

There Wealthy Meg, the Sailor's Friend,
And Marion, cow-eyed,
Opened their arms to me but I
Refused to step inside;
I was not looking for a cage
In which to mope my old age.

The nightingales are sobbing in
The orchards of our mothers,
And hearts that we broke long ago
Have long been breaking others;
Tears are round, the sea is deep:
Roll them overboard and sleep.