You have taken those apparent steps you need
to be more conspicuous it seems

you will not rest your tired feet for long
but place them carefully next to your 'own kind' on the way
with delibrate circumspect and a considered proximity

you will be a clown, a horse and a child while you sculpt your climb

I can only postulate you always belonged over there in a half baked circle with the well heeled .

I suppose your not the only one who longs to be a parading plutocrat

why you want a stamp of approval from the paradise of fools I will never really know

I guess we all like a nod

‘Once fire is the form of the spectacle the problem
becomes how to set fire to fire.’
—Joshua Clover, ‘My Life in the New Millennium’

i’m back
back with a thunderclap.
no wait, scratch that.
back with a thunderous tone from the seldom seen soul
groaning lonely long sung melodies, if it please.
welcome to a kingdom of dreams
and agony.
a stone’s throw from here:
a face
Unseen.
and somewhere between(:) low
oceans rolling under the moon,
a storm approaching,
crazed wind whirling,
my sails unfurl, searching for the open seas of your gaze;
sick of being furtive;
i live and i yearn and i speak what i learn
and i know when i haven’t earned it,
too often too stern and i know you don’t deserve it,
i know everyone i know and too many more deserve so much more
and for them to have this i live and i yearn!
Justice!
for this i live and i yearn
on the turning earth that gives
no rest to the world weary
left alone
to burn out, i burn out, i burn out
i rise from the ashes
a phoenix grasping wheat and hammer in its talons,
seeking to pass out gifts and set fire
to fire itself, to sing Clover in the streets,
to render the helpless
helpless no longer.
i am (not) unbroken
like infinite waves.
friends fan the flames of my brazen heart
ablaze at three minutes to the midnight of my flagrant soul.
a toll on your life,
a tax on your poverty.
shouting: no more!
shouting: we will not settle for less than we are owed!
shouting: down with the dictatorship of the plutocrat!
shouting: down with the rich Man’s socialism!
shouting: …
in a fantasy, odiously
no more, doubt ridden,
not yet traversed nor even intraversed,
not yet reified, not quite versed;
apartheids’ unovercoming, voices atrophied,
walls rising higher, reception terse
and curse those bless’ed curses
transdescending themselves
in blessings through me!
they haven’t yet found me at my worst
so things couldn’t get worse if i hurt them.

my intentions a mess,
my effect bereft.

wake me from my slumber, let be the aching of my chest;
let the heaviness of my heart be the weight of solidarity;
let be! the political is personal to some, life and death to some:
that’s why i’m so glum, chum,
they’re killing quicker than i finish another straight ***…
****.
and on our own soil too – see, it’s partly not for oil;
blind to land grabs and assets stolen, our toil exploited – that’s what’s up.
can’t handle serfdom? physical, mental, or spiritual health problem?
abject subsistence and misread decisions not assuaged by some other ***?
unconditional basic income?—say what?
choose starvation, hypothermia, suicide, fear—
it’s a numbers game
and every loss is a ******,
it’s ****** up.
state cuts ****, zombie banks ****, transnationals ****, TTIP will ****,
our heroes are experienced
as torturous humiliators and mass murderers in other countries,
it’s ****** up.
and reactions to shock and awe, pollution, imperialism and stolen raw materials be the chorus.
and i hope the NSA and other such state ***** hear clearly what i have to say.
and always from the pools of blood,
money trickles up.
structurally omni-parasitic,
-cataclysmic, -containing
an unlucky lucky one formula;
“profits today, **** tomorrow!”;
a system of mass extinction and violence;
cultures of hate;
distain for compassion;
secret social cleansings;
privatised gain, nationalised pain;
a plaguing absence of understanding;
sanction fetishes;
rational genocides;
wages; ***; television; grumpy cat; death drive;
armies of invisible slaves and pillaged unpeoples,
and sordid crowds of visible ones in denial or denied;
and an honest and patronising pastiche poet!
to not even begin.

but a promise shall be a promise.

weeping won’t get it done.
i shall muster my forces even before four horsemen,
the long attricious charge toward a universal freedom from fear
and hierarchy shattered
under banners of equality axiomatic sworn.
my wingbeat shall be adorned with thunderous applause,
it shall disclose smokescreens and it shall cleanse you of opiates
and not just those you have in mind.
watch me soar, join these skies;
rise above the immoral laws and their warped economic concord;
be aware of where the wealth is hoarded;
don’t concern yourself with lies,
concern yourself with liars and who they’re lying for.
be wary where your desire’s from.
there’s still longer than a long way to go
but your sense of urgency is needed now.
the shadows of the Bomb and of ecological catastrophe now grow longer
than the shadow of death
in any old sad song in history
in scarcity, surrendering abundant potential for post-scarcity
to strings of the superego, demons, conductors, controllers
and orchestrated outrage!
and i know we have more to lose than our chains.
but the view from the night of Terror is of the far off tranquil stars
and the moon never brighter!
bind, unbind, entwine.
i will not leave behind only wasted time.
find yourself, find the source, give out your hand
to dance, to share, suffer, fall—
find the hand of another, there find recourse—
and consider the Call, and consider the Course.

and tell me
how it feels like
returning to the suburbia
walking past couples
eating chilly popsicles
from each others’ hands
while kids fall on the pavements
not a worry, not a melee
as the first full moon
overlooking us
beyond the double pulses
built at the epicentre
witnessing all of the
wild, harsh river flows
that taught us life
I am not the melodramatic aristocrat
you are the forgetful, envious plutocrat
will you make it through January
when I still linger with December?

you would know that only answer.

what does it matter
whether they come for your money
or they come for your blood
the fact that they come
speaks of a dark heart
they are the takers
they've no wish to share with us
only leaving enough seed behind
to ensure another harvest

our money and blood
the sweat of our brow
they depend on it
they demand our loyalty to their cash cow
while seeing us as fodder for their cannons
they thirst ever for more
never satisfied with the hoard
they've already amassed

those who stand in their way
they're expendable
the rich get richer by the day
our cost to live
continually endangered
oh how the plutocrat loves to hold his third world ransom

that is what we are becoming

we are their stepping stones
and once we are used to cross a river
bringing the takers to greener pastures
we are no longer needed
there will always be more stones
that they can throw into the waters

we are no more than bridge material to their next fortune
once crossed to be thrown away
they'll not need our bridge a second time
they never look back and care not
for the rubble they leave behind

A Poet is Amused

Now when we say good bye give me
a promise with your hands and lips
no, I didn't mean an apple.
Object
Plutocrat
Advocate
That has nothing to do with grammar.
Who said it did?
The first time I saw naked woman was a September night
she stood by the fire cleaning her private part
soapy ***** hairs
overcome by desire, I ******* fell to the ground
in someone else’s garden.
Poets are like ****** sell romantic poems and show
their filthy souls to anyone in need of a dream.
He goes to the nearest tavern and has a dram
and doesn’t let grammar get into it only wishes to live
in a society that ban full stop and comma.

August Moon.

Plutocrat, august moon. Golden fires from lost stars in
your chandelier, a hall that was for the pantocrator. The
steward left for home, submerged in the crowded city,
something of a good sense is left. The story sails the wind,
trophies are your favourite futilities, thousands of them.

The wall between you and the sky, if clouds would be like
cows and grazing on the blue line of your terrace, than
take it as a compliment. August moon, this is a golden dream.
When do we understand, you are nature. East, west, south and
north, and tomorrows. A penny for your thoughts, autocrat.

Glad for birth write to express views
aware cunning linguists
will apply figurative screws  
in an effort at blatant mud slinging ruse
exercised courtesy mail in ballots,
or electorates standing in queues
who the previous Sunday
possibly fervently prayed within pews
a mixture of Republican and Democratic

gentiles (relating to or indicating
a nation or clan, especially a gens)
and orthodox or reformed Jews,
although dissimilar viewpoint you may choose,
perhaps feeling exuberant
crying tears of joy
with red eye to boot
unlike myself (a common Joe)
biden his time until 2028
until then experiencing moody blues.

The following mostly written
November 6th, 2018,
nevertheless, I copy and paste
bulk of previously crafted poem
applicable to 2024 presidential election
nearly six years to date
from forty fifth elected
meddling,  scheming, and yawping
commander in chief.

Das Don Auld (can hardly tank
tucker - son of Carl, and leave
landscape barren) calling out
rigged ken tuckered hoarfrost race,
viz demolition derby presaging
death to White Anglo Saxon
democracy DOMS (delayed
onset muscle soreness)
minions decry diplomacy,
crass denunciation of
Stacey Abrams

liberally Apple eyeing jingoistic rhetoric
declare defamation directly
upon disparate grass roots
hegemony, hectoring, heckling,
and harassing humble hobby (lobby) horse
sense, asper progressive
democrats hurrahing, holstering, hitching
visa vis disc hovering rays in the sky,
no fault in our stars,
harnessing healthy,

honesty, humility plowing,
sowing, and tilling political
terrain at expense tubby
execrably, damnably, cruelly,
brutally, nagged, branded,
and whipped malevolently,
mercilessly, and mischievously
lambasted by fourth grade
vocabulary level former commander
in chief exuding: haughtiness,
doughy bully pronouncing

prescriptions provisioning
one percent pampered
population attending one
born at Jamaica Hospital in Queens,
New York City hobnobbing,
galavanting, fawning...
at ego inflating functions
exploiting downtrodden
under most class "dirt poor"
bilked proletariat segment.

Pinnacle (topping Taj Mahal),
now owns Birds eye
bourgeoisie view, which
informs hawkish word
smiths, onlookers with
powerfully pointed outlook
excellent access, sans zealous,
vociferous, uxorious, and traitorous
tyrannical reigning Rex
less lee pugnacious noxious

loose xenophobic,
jabberwocky, demagoguery
laced jargon surly *******,
quizzically, pugilistic-allied,
outrageously punching
imaginary nemesis, linkedin
with instagram, snapchat
twittering skulking arch
conservative enemies
clandestinely undermining

(bone a fide skulduggery)
ambitions to turn back
figurative clock, applauding,
cobbling, counting crowdsource
to elect forty seventh
commander in chief
to reboot, remake, and retry
to restore American (post
world war II) hit parade
soundtrack resonating

with ardent blatant
bigotry, colored blinders,
devilish foo fighting
patriotism, nepotism, localism,
gerrymandered, jury rigged
Russian hijacked pollster
precincts, nativism milking
titillating conspiracy theorists,
denouncing radical ambidextrous
righteous leftists, silencing

second amendment agent
challenges provocateurs,
lake wobegon raconteurs,
and saboteurs infiltrating
highest echelons with spooky
intelligent poseurs, and green
lighting one man plutocrat
steamrolling aborted blackened
civil disobedience (Thoreau Lee)
walled in reproductive rights.

Americans got everything
back to front, beginning with
something so simple as which
hand to hold a fork in.

The date, which makes no sense
to have months before days, it is
sequential process of graduation.

But, they drink out of bottles
which is reminiscent of childhood.

They eat popcorn and basically have
a national reading age of 9.

Imperial measurements
Metric sense of cents.

And an one udder thing,
Florida is a solitary ****.

Their Democratic Liberalism is Fascist
Capitalism and Conservative Republicanism
is a form of Populist Socialism.

Which is why those of whom (are not)
the privileged classes would be doing
their fellow human beings (of the majority
underdogs) a gross injustice if they vote for-

            Joe  Bidet's Plutocrat Party.