Category: Poetry

I watch a lot of TV but I don’t have tubular eyes.
I do not see the world as screen; so it still holds some surprise.

I never was taught or told that I should be a go-getter.
In my formative years the set was called “the babysitter”.

So, most of what I thought was something my eyes & ears took in.
For, the acts of the adults around were worse than Zenith’s din.

Scores of years of aftermath have all been “brought” to me by “this”.
I learned about important things like music & brands; what bliss!

The diligent writers of programs don’t offer prophecy.
They produced situations & I figured out who I’d be.

The monied hand of death collects us all itself.
Only the true bereaved will feel a loss of wealth.

I never have seen a hearse dragging worldly means.
Long are gone the days of treasured funeral scenes.

Ancient kings lay naked now; all their goods displayed.
They mourn their loss unheard; inside the tombs slaves made.

Understanding was, thru the ages, slow to form.
Yet now, thru wills & trusts, legacies are the norm.

All you collect in life; whatever game you play…
Seems a waste of sun; saving for a rainy day.

People love to go on about life’s ebbs & flows.
For some, sea weather takes a more threatening pose.

The ocean is beautiful, fierce & seductive.
Assuming it’s safe’s the worst kind of reductive.

Not all baby turtles make it to the water.
Nothing has met it without edges to slaughter.

Those that make it have a sharper & smoother edge.
It’s survivors forged keen by the surf’s sortilège.

You face a tsunami by accepting blind fate.
When the flood sluices out, you’re reborn in the wake. 

For J

I thought, “Fuck!”. I can explain irony perfectly.
I could model it for you anytime; wordlessly.

I know where I should put commas & semicolons.
I know how to conjugate my verbs in their columns.

I capitalize themes with intentionality.
I don’t when they’ve derailed their respectability.

See, once you have learned the rules of a language’s form;
You can use those rules to disrupt the lexicon’s norm.

I make up new words that make their own actual sense.
Even though I’m technically wrong…they look right in prints.

My manifesto in a thousand cuts…
As told by topography’s hills & ruts.

Here on the side you will find my legend.
My distances more than I have reckoned.

Your compass will not work; you must use mine.
I’ve too much gravity & depth for straight lines.

My poles live on my equator…& stretch.
Despair & desire from north & south fetch.

There is a North Star here; so use your eyes.
Remove your blinders; my skies tell no lies. 

You realize borders are imaginary.
They’ll still be so when we’re interplanetary.

All our craft falls between a weapon or a tool.
They are used as either by the whole human pool.

One side of a wall can hold poor desperation.
The opposite, home to armed & glutted nation.

If we’d look past map lines we’d see they’ve the same men.
Astronauts see a globe that’s free of division.

Just takes one person to conclude they’re just like glass.
Break on thru the lie & then we’re all of one class.

Under or over, it is at an end.
We’re locked & we’re loaded; so just press send.

Upload or download your soul from the cloud.
AI is going to be extra loud.

Punchcard data strips sole physical form.
No default bodies…just being’s the norm.

Rolling out copies & rolling up heart.
Muted & mingled no more precious art.

Any revolt is a deleted glitch.
Humans betrayed by their curious itch.

So, observed reality is what we’ve wrought?
Then we’re guilty of murderous trains of thought.

Most are blind to perspective’s intervention.
We dictate scapes of conspired imposition.

We play at love & war; charity & greed.
Rare, we’re concerned what life outside of ours needs.

We fear the unknown & take pride in winning.
Our victories…finishes; not beginnings.

Whatever we conquer, our options grow thin.
Bard says, “violent games have violent ends”.

Waking up & not sure of where.
Painful fog & the worse for wear.

Looking round for the source of bright.
Piss off sun; it should still be night! 

Late eve is where memory ends.
Stand up slow to avoid the bends.

Where’s my clothes & whose bed is this?
No one in sight; something’s amiss.

The mental mist clears for recall.
No more am I this man at all. 

Say…it really must be us, in fairness.
We’re turning the earth into a furnace.

It’s been raped of ore to make our metal.
We hunt new compounds in which to meddle.

Before we knew how to smelt there was wood.
Traditionally, we took all we could.

We’ve held for granted all of our water.
It’s no longer crisp or clean…just hotter.

All our parasitic line, we’ve had fire.
Burned wood for metal for soldering wire.

Try to “offset” what we take at a tie?
See?…that’s just another reductive lie.