Deceit is
Woke made clickbait.
A punchline void of pugilism.
Manufactured.
Puffed.
& vision ill-corrected.

Poisoned.
Children so woke now;
Diaspora are sleepwalking,
Suffering Sleeplessness;
An insipid insomnia;
Waking others to death.

Eyes wide-open (fili-fili)
Hoodwinked in a depth of light;
Dark angel glory.
Bane.
Mediocre.
Hidden.
Malignant mult-I-media.
Woke?

© Qwey.ku


30th November MMXXI

አሁን በኢትዮጵያ አቆጣጠር

26 Kislev 5782

You were responding,
To a folly,
With energy from a lifetime of pugilism,
You were bumfuzzled by the existence of the error,
And outrage took precedence over patience,

You lashed with your tongue like I was property in your plantation,
Like I showed a spirit that threatened to throw the yoke,
Like I was somehow audacious and menacing,
When all I did was display an effeminate flair,
A vanity that is, indeed, unbecoming,
And required correction,
And I wonder how you lived so long without knowing no quality can be destroyed by language.

You aggravated my condition,
You taught me how to hate myself,
And hate others like me,
And even now the qualities you saw remain alive,
I seek remedies for the pain you caused in every moment of my life,
Where once I confided in myself,
I now confide in no one,

You were wrong,
What I needed was a gentle correction,
A leader who could show me how a man's heart should glow,
But you so feared the light of your own soul, I know,
That dark hate became your refuge,
And you became a misanthrope,
Clinging to the memory of a fight so you could hurl it into the present's exposition,

I no longer wish to believe that pain can fix dysfunction.
So I lay your words to rest and a say a prayer,
For your immortal soul.

Where have we gone wrong?
Is this wrong?

We can hardly stand to speak to
one another anymore.

Does anyone remember how to
actually use the telephone feature
of the device that they carry
in their pockets?

Is this the future?
Am I living in the past?

How does one stay grounded, centered,
in the moment, these days, these months,
this godforsaken year?

Everything,
every conversation,
even my plate of biscuits & gravy
has been politicized, polarized,
punctuated, with the pugilism of
keystroke pundits.

On most Sunday afternoons,
I sit and compose.

My own musings;
the oatmeal of my mind.
Waiting for Goldilocks,
maybe a bear or three.

Come Monday,
I’m incarcerated for the day,
playfully playing the role
of Counselor
to men with addiction-issues;
an outright aversion to following
the norms of our less-than-gracious
Golden Age.

I might say that I’m playacting,
but I take it all very seriously.
(Not myself, mind you,
the work done inside those iron-gates.)

I refuse to perform with an angry eye,
heart or mind.
Seeking
clarity.
Showing
concern.

Are you a help or a hindrance?

This might be the question
we all could answer,
especially now,
on the downward *****
of
The 21st year
of the 3rd Millienia.

We’ve elected an inept celebrity.

Several of us love that facist fact,
loading out in our flag-adorned F-150s.

(Yee-haw!)

What a shame.
What a sham.
What a shambles our humanity
is in.

Our souls scream for something
that feels like success,
security, surety.

Even those whom are seen
as the least of us;
who vote against their own
self-interests,
they deserve better than
The Beast of Us.

Our faces hidden behind masks,
tearful eyes,
our fellow citizens have died,
our leaders lied,
we rioted, protested,
looted,
in response to jack-booted oppressors.

Confessors?
None.

This battle,
this race of inequity
may never be won.

Still,
we run.

*
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublicarions 2020