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Mollie Nov 2018
burdened by the intense understanding of their anatomy,
their mortality
the human condition was to often forget how to live, for they always knew they would die.
from the tissues of the brain,
cerebellum,
to the arteries within their hearts,
opening
closing.
like psychics hovering over crystal *****,
humans saw themselves decay
and their world decay
with the pollution and destruction
they saw the effects of their reality forced upon those not aware enough to have a choice
how could they know that the creation of time would allow them to track every second
of grief,
every moment of pain.
time became an instrument of torture.
the days and the nights,
alone. the clock ticks,
tocks, two seconds.
two more seconds alone.
the compilation of pixels on a screen which
promotes entertainment
opened them up to the realities of the world
and children screamed
and choked
tear gas burned their eyes.
desensitised to violence,
they lied to them, their children...

why?
Not perfect, but this was my stream of consciousness upon hearing the news the other morning.
DEW Dec 2017
I drank her in with my lonesome stare
I said,
"Give me that good lovin'
darling it don't take work
to turn on your oven..."
First she feigned indifference
then she sighed with deference
and I coaxed her in like a trout in spring.

Honey I'm looking for the hot button to push
some women will holler,
men like me will shush
cause the hot button just needs the right touch
celebrate good lovin' with me, don't fuss...

Politics are all about the hot button.
Men with the long arms ain't seen nothin'.
Law man bows to the law maker.
Hot button respects your journalistic prayer.

Some men see what some men hide,
but you can keep hiding if the law will abide.
Even when the law man says no-no
lawmaker's got a hearse:
'nother **, 'nother **...

Hot button's the only thing you'll see in print.
What your momma's momma says is what will glint.
The bird is the word, I'll say in vain,
but top dollar pays what's at the nose of the vane.

I've wanted to push the hot button all night long
classic poems galore, but mine are all wrong.
I guess I'll go back to where I was born,
chew a dog bone, scraps, with my baby teeth worn.

In the junkyard, I see yesterday's hot buttons
emaciated bells and whistles just struttin'
They've lost their minds and luster, no thanks
I'm like,
"These are the gals you see walking the planks."
Every day more hot buttons walk in line,
heaven is just a misery for these topics of history
but I polish them with chrome
I get desperate, what can I say.
I'll never leave a hot button to rot with dismay.

Just give me another hour, good lovin' can dream.
I'll bring a hot button to you, good Lord! It'll gleam.
So, I just wanted to write for the sake of writing.
I have a theme running through this, of course, from the title to the last line, but I also just wanted to write since it's been a while.

This poem doesn't have a consistent rhythm and I partly didn't mean for that to happen, but I also needed it to be this way because of the conversational tone of the piece.

In the end, it's its own little romp through resentment and frustration over my life firstly, but also the life we all share: the sorry state of the world.

As always, enjoy!

DEW

— The End —