A family
husband wife
two kids
& a
dog out
on a
Sunday stroll
the mother
carrying a
plastic Safeway
bag containing
the dog’s
shit that
she’s scooped
up along
the way
with a
small plastic
shovel.
About as
useful as
recycling
pop cans
when it
comes to
saving a
ravaged planet.
Filed under poems & short jabs
Negativity will
see you
thru don’t
listen to
Bob Dylan
he’s old
& looking
a little
sold out
what with
Barack Obama
King of
the Drone
strikes &
Guantanamo
Bay draping
the Presidential
Medal of
Freedom around
his neck
& the
French laying
the Medal
of the
Legion of
Honor
on him
that Napoleon
got started
back in
1802 when
he was
laying waste
most of
Europe.
Filed under poems & short jabs
*(see “Sliding Down Into the Behavioral Sink” The Pump House Gang, Tom Wolfe)
Curved space
wrinkled time
the readymade
lifestyle the
Behavioral Sink*
the cancelation
of Lebensraum
we aren’t
what we
eat we’re
what we
snatch
out of
thin air,
miracles pulped
into romance,
euphemistic
sex drive
euphemized a
step further
Oedipus gone
gay as
a daisy
the Dead
Mothers grossing
high on
the music
charts.
Freeze me
up like
sliced carrots
thaw me
out when
the fad
has passed
leave some
snapshots
so I’ll
know what
to look
for something
warm-blooded
that lays
down at
night &
whispers sweet
daddy when
the lights
go out.
I don’t
want much,
just a
reprieve
from gridlock.
Genocide is
how we
postpone the
inevitable.
Filed under poems & short jabs
You’re not
free of
addiction until
you can
stand perfectly
still,
not just
for a
little while
but forever.
Filed under poems & short jabs
He rode
in from
the past
pow pulled
the trigger
blew a
hole thru
the ghost
world of
the future
drawed &
quartered
contrition
flew her
remains like
a battered
battle flag
over the
carnage
took hostages
whispered
terms of
surrender in
their pink
little ears
he knew
he didn’t
have long
to live
but what
of it
he’d go
home victorious
in a
coffin fashioned
from
sea shells,
drums &
bugles for
the Shangri-La
of his
soul.
His name
was Sun
Child, &
you’ve not
heard the
last of him.
Filed under poems & short jabs
If you
live a
life with
three hots
& a
cot you’re
guilty of
genocide.
What
kind of
education system
keeps you
from understanding
what I mean?
Filed under poems & short jabs
