I'm a shell
My soul has left
Empty as can be
Space that's left
Is not me

I'm useless
As a highway
Without cars
I might as well
Be on Mars

I'm gone
But still alive
Like stars persist
Until the light is gone
My body insists

I'm a circumference
The boundary surrounds
Dry carcass bone
I care not
Just lost-and-found

I won't return
To my body of ruin
Burial plans made
Threaded into a patchwork quilt
Upstaged and waylaid

I'm now safe outside
Myself
I see you looking in
She is gone from her
Forever now thick and thin

I'm tired of sycophants  
Complicit in democracy's destuction
By their hands, skinned alive
I left my body today
In order to survive

Pray tell, Janus,
how, does, it, feel?
Does, your steel's,
duplicitous, reflection, reappear?
When, the, officed, place,
your, only-thought, used to, lay,
it's, bulbous head,
blossoms, into,
a, tangible idea?
Does, the bedrock's, stele,
make, flowering mettle,
of, the insecure hay?
And, from, the ore,
did, a, garden-variety,
blacksmith, bow, kneel, and, forge,
a sword, for, you, to, falsely, slay,
the poltergeist's, of, those, evil,
sons, and, daughters, seeded by,
that, shiny, yet, mistrusted,
Monarchy of Fear?

So, pray tell, Janus,
how, does, it, feel?
Does, your steel's,
duplicitous, reflection, disappear?
When, your mettle, is, made molten?
Does, it, maim, to see,
your, valued core, first, loosen,
then, wobble, as, you, backtrack, sore,
and, falter, on hearing, the, magma mists,
of, you, hiss, and, squeal?
Is, cerulean, gold, scarlet, and, purple,
all, that, you, listen to, here?
Does, the, imperious, court,
within, your mind, reveal, only,
Knaves-Jesters-Jacks-and-Jokers?
And, does, the, gilded line,
(you speak of naught),
that, you, and, your; Kings, and, Queens, crossed, of yester,
split; all, of, your faces, in, two,
with; royal-blue, hot, i-ron, pokers?

The answers, as always, were; curved, and,
swerved. In, a, spineless, motion, with, gall, but, without, feeling, or, nerve. Pride,
watched on, unaware, of, the fall, that, lay, beyond, the cliff, where, evil, is, served.

© poormansdreams

Paralysis sets in,
A symptom of existential dread
How did we get here again?
How did people vote to
Make America 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦 Again?

There’s nothing great about
Oppression or misogynistic expression
There’s nothing great about
The home of the brave
When so many don’t feel free.

No glory to God be;
Inauguration will be a day of mourning.
As I look for hope in honoring
The legacy of Dr. King.
May Civil Resistance fill the streets.

Let us tend to community;
For the next four years
Will require resilience and revolution.
Let us care for each other;
In numbers, there is strength.

May our sorrow and rage be a
Tool for Justice.
May we rest when we feel hopeless.
Democracy will not go down without a fight
The time to prevail is here.

© KSS 1/19/2025

to be or not to be,
that is the question un
doing democracy
burdened by(what has been

the magic)8 ball knows
the answer,so do i
the magic answer is
better not tell you now

Yes, reading, using only text, unbreakably plain,
as benign as simple first seems, easy to keep thinking

we may be evolving as we think in ways none thought
possible to leave be so easing, lifting, lightening thinking

we need not toil,
at this instance,
the nature of the medium,
holding any sense we make,
massaging the messenger, to me
arranges time around second glances,
it may mean as many as seventy things,

but tome, said in Hebrew, is integrated innocense,
and it has a verbal form, completing certain trans
actions, in spacetime mindful practice fields,
as pre-spiring aspiring transpirits transpiring
into little willful art works, aspirational asps

sneaky snake, wise serpent, dragon prosperity,
dragon of lucifity, crawling like an army, on its belly,

Set, divine sylabbles from babbling brooks,
that loved the high mountains in that science
of Aristotle kind of love, rich kids learned as religion.

The initiation into the mysteries.

Those oaths, I swear, we hear them
to this day, as games are played, old spells
muttered, and the veterans of Satanic Panic,

at the edge
of the last millennium,
once more, gather socially,
to see shown, the Q- document
included the ritual,
to let this mind, be
in you, and you  be thinking,

-- wait one adjectively untainted minute,
is the-this art, is this thinkable, without
authority?

this peace I am taking, I did not make it, but
I can take it. I fought no dragon,
won no war.
I solved the house troubling egg
riddle, silk eggs store story lines
on the scale
of life, entire memories
of winds waters since the ice,
last reached farther last summer,
than this, these
memories
in gaseous we formed last gasps,
suddenly

it ended… and we survived,
we feel the need t
o let it be known, and lo'
we have a culture atuned
to the tongue I was programed
to use awarily as the message medium.

Imagined while Goldie Hawn was asking
Marshall McLuhan, what are you doin'?
Dig it. Digit. An instant in a we.
'68. There was video tape,
and searchible reel to reel, let's test it, in a mind

re-ify, ify if I knew when time mattered last,

what would now be worth, back then?
In attention?

Lay upon the asphalt of your tender life.
Where is your OK line?

Does it fall straight or
Wander like a rivers ebb?

Does your OK line look away from Native children
forced to give up their language
with a safety pin in their tongue?

Does your OK line conform blindly with false prophets who seek control
making it easy
for you to turn away
   from suffering?

My OK line seeks parity,
self-determination,
and soothing
With my voice and images
that will never be silenced in a democracy
but could be sold to the highest bidder in a dictatorship.

Silence kills
and you suffer less
believing you are somehow more disserving.
You are as equal
as the stone stuck in the sole of your shoe.
We all hurt the same.

Remember discomfort
is equal for all.
That's the OK line.
Stone, thorn, blade
and heart.
Bleed, red
but bleed less
in the company
of a battling generation
who votes the OK line
For freedom
of choice
Until our last breath.

Heroes wear all kinds of uniforms,
and call many places home,
but standing the line for Democracy
they are all just as tall and just as brave

Who was this man
who ventured to a distant land
to defend it from an invader
they are not his people
this was not his home
but he stood the line for Democracy
he stood the line proud and tall
and died

He was my Brother
He was my Father
He was my Friend
He was a good man
He stood the line for Democracy

How did we get to where we are,
America - the one undimming shining star,
A land of freedom, of unbounded pride
Where no one needed run and hide
For their religion or mere thought,
Democracy - the very heart of what was taught.

Now the Media drums a beat
That too many rush to heed,
Politicians seem at war
Spewing discord to their core,
Division their concocted art
Wrenching the rest of us apart.

Pressure groups with voices loud
Control the stage as if endowed,
We the masses listen stunned
Outmaneuvered and outgunned,
All too late we see the light
As our cities fall to blight.

Police leaving by the score,
Inner cities full of gore,
Death and Drugs partners in crime
The serial killers of our time,
Those we elect wringing their hands
Caving in to shrill demands.

Social media runs amok
Trampling discourse in it's muck,
Faceless voices spewing hate
Leaving victims to their fate,
Pervading every corner of our life
Their tool of choice inciting strife.

Is it too late may we well ask
To tear apart this vile death mask,
Restoring that for which our father's fought
A way of life worked for and not bought,
The very fruit of land well sown
The purest form of liberty our world has ever known.