Category: Poetry

Our ego’s are stronger than our immune systems are.
So, we’re ailing & flailing whilst still drinking hard bar.

Oblivious to science, facts & plain common sense.
Running high fevers astride the vaccination fence.

A conspiracy dunce proffered to lead us in health?
How does so very much stupid infect those of wealth?

Inbreeding, outbreeding & husbandry of fortune;
Yet, clever overflows from your average urchin.

It’s genuinely amazing we’ve made it this far…
Our egos are stronger than our immune systems are.

On what might they blame my internment?
Surely, not a lack of discernment.

Not without its loneliness & tears…
Have been these fifteen celibate years.

It seems that I’m choosy to a fault…
To have found myself here in this vault.

Vulnerable; both soaking & wet…
Alone down here in my oubliette.

As Sun & Moon scrape my grill themed skies…
We’re to hang hope on dead rich white guys?

Satire is just a fancy word for teasing.
High-brow whit at power’s expense is pleasing.

Institutions, too, are overlap targets…
Ridiculous bureaucratic laugh markets.

Then, there’s people of archetype character.
Priest, politician, banker & actor.

The job of the satirist is to deride.
Expose the folly & corruption they’ve spied.

The work one must do requires a three pronged tool.
They’re irony, sarcasm & ridicule.

Why do we still have to come out & proclaim?
‘Cause parents have pre-telegraphed their disdain.

It is not for us to tell them who they are.
They will tell you when they’re sure their news won’t scar.

You can guess & hope; but keep it to yourselves.
Unless, you want them ever stuck in their shells.

Better, like the bud that unfolds in its bloom.
Their truth will out, if you’d just give time & room.

For, a parent should love whomever they get!
Yes, be patient support…so children don’t split.

I know there’s no such thing as perfect; only best.
It’s the enemy of all the good; & the rest.

Oh, we try & we practice; we sweat & we bleed.
Aiming to be exact & excel we must cede.

There is the best, the better, the good & so-so.
Personal achievements are the way you should go.

For, beating one’s self is an accurate metric.
Every time we beat time the feeling’s electric.

So, discard your ideas of perfect precision.
Owe only yourself when you make good decisions.

Here we are again at hovel harvest time.
The right is now poised to commit every crime.

All this hot air for a pyramid swindle.
The worth of the dollar will further dwindle.

Folks deported to The Tropic of Torture?
Undecided last year; are you now more sure?

So, you voted for wealth because you are broke?
Put down the pipe & step away from the smoke.

The rich rarely bother to think of our class.
They’re no one’s bro & you ain’t getting that cash.

Here comes a trigger to derail your train of thought.
Triage & chase after that topic you had caught.

Re-catching a ribbon of logic proves too hard.
So, you give up on riffing & remain on-guard.

Soon, another chance will come to jump on back in.
Only, there are no breaks in the consistent din.

Here’s an incoming thread of familiar thinking.
You flail for its tail thru your fingertips slinking.

You’ve now lost, or have missed, the continuum twice.
If you or they can’t find room, you’ll strike-out at thrice. 

Why not a dance party lying on my back?
Would that really make me such a kooky-quack?

I was lying in bed & thought of a song.
The beat got a hold of my soul before long.

This guy has always had music inside him.
Grateful for my gifts & I’d never hide them.

So, tonight’s the night where the rythym gets me?
It’s the time when I fall prey to the boogie?

I lean into the magic; cause I’ve nothing to prove…
& surrender to sleep inside of my groove.

They’ll be at the age soon when my adults turned away.
Yes, there were witnesses of the abuse of this gay.

Past that point, my lived experience is so sparse.
Absent of family & lodged in a foster-care farce.

Suddenly, all my adult relationships were paid.
I was a ward of the state & just really afraid.

There’s much uncommon good that I can share of this world.
Yet, I have nought for these years; when my own life was furled.

I think I could be useful in the deeper felt strains…
Including hurdles that waylay & hang up our brains.

I can pay witness & shepherd the wanderers back.
Hard, not to worry…there’s so much they need that I lack.

Still, I know that I love them…so, I know it’ll wash.
I’ll try to remember it…when I have angst to squash.

How far are you willing to compromise?
Don stiff mannerisms, drop voice & hide?

How long are we patient to wait for change?
Wait on red-tapers leery of the strange?

How hard will individual lives get?
We’ve brief agency; but far longer debt?

How much can one do without burning-out?
Just with big pharma & old-monied clout?

How would one know if they’ve finished Life’s race?
Dead Dust has no need to think of its place.