Tag: poem

petty political broadcast the words aren’t about the people and the war isn’t waged for them either it’s about the business of revenge it’s not served cold here it’s a steaming pile and it smells bad it sounds sad does it even…

you are photocopy tongue swimming in the toner the ink of another’s think plagiarism’s stink some don’t even blink the replay of the motion the emptied out emotion no care, no devotion just replication loose recreation tourists at christ’s last station make…

are you looking to be a gumbo? thinking of being a scrapbook? aiming for something jazz? not interested in playing it straight do your boots say it? do your trousers say it? does your shirt say it? does your jacket say it?…

you don’t sing in public but you know all the words the insecurities satellited around you a halo of disregard those voices drown yours out your volume turned down and you’re fooled into thinking you can’t do without them that they’re a…

you are a windmill turning the spin of everyday into energy for turning the wheat into flour to make bread the machinery of conversion men using dreams like plants converting light into life you write every night back from work back from…

they are in the market for freedom but what if it is only worth something in the denial of others? what if its worth to them is reckoned in pain? and if they gain no screams and no crushed dreams in the…

busted wires electrical fires hired liars and insurance scams what exactly is preserved in jams fruits that would have gone to spoil windfall that would have rotted into soil you’re a sold soul over oil we were in the radio room waiting…

there is a terror they are working with desire to destabilise how you live and the means to control all aspects of your life and then cast it in a different light become the critical thinker not the kool aid drinker follow…

you don’t have a philosophy some kind of way to piss off me the working class isn’t in a room the warp and weft like a theft from the loom throws light and shade around a final doom and who is weaving…

drawing faces on my fingers for a puppet show holding the strings pulling unaware what topples but knowing the you know the dominant know the domino the rallying collapsing concatenation hold a pencil think of a drawing the art in the heart…