poem – Page 163 – poems 2 die for

WROTE

wrote
a poem
for you

the words
bleeding through

memories so
powerful
painful

hearts
torn

in
two

SURPRISE

here’s the surprise
in this morass
of words
.
lies are truth
truth
is lies

every meaning
you woke up with
were
certain of

has been
re-defined

and the symbol of
your salvation

bent,
twisted

into new configuration

HERE

here is my poem
poem I am so proud of

you tore
out of my book
ripped
out of my mouth

plundered
from my body

buried
in deepest
hole imaginable

since contrived,
created

to be part of our conspiracy
we
animals
non-people

FARM WITH A BARN

the farm
with a barn

and a silo
underground

wants
a world
without
consequences

world
for and
by
the exceptional

for your
disinformation

as their
forever playground

BLOT

it’s a dance alright
insane dance
of alignment

and here you are
in all your impudence

to call
out
the false steps

connect
all the dots

turn down the volume
on same same
cranky tune

call out those writers
meant to
lyric
this song

fingers dictated, pens
all over the place

text they have written just
a fat Rorschach blot

DEAD

morality is dead
it died before
our very eyes

both slow
lingering death

and death like lightning
death by lightning

but don’t
say anything

let us pretend
morality is still alive

otherwise
they will shoot
us where we stand
or where
we kneel (execution
style)

as is
their moral duty
moral right

ANYWAY

my love
was not enough

stuttering, halting

it was
never enough

and so
we lost each other
lost life

hardest price
to pay

we paid
it anyway

love
the commodity
cannot bear
exchange

INCOMPLETE

IMCOMPLETE

do not learn

we never
learn

what have we
learnt?
don’t hold back
just
let rip

tell me
tell me!

look at me
pay careful attention
thorough scrutiny

all those years
gone to waste

sitting down

lying down

standing up

writing something
learning nothing

what in here
worth speaking?

out there
worth reading?

what
good are books
when there are tanks
in the street?

indiscriminate slaughter
clearing a path house
to house

room
to room

every alley
every precinct

this book of horrors
as yet unwritten
as yet incomplete

one two
three four;
every paragraph

breaking
every wall

VILLAIN

each of us are a villain
in some origin story

my phone alarm sings
celestial cosmic sounds
at 5.20
in the morning
(exact
moment I was born
making me an
ascendant Aquarian)

and news of airstrikes
all over the media

preparations
for the SuperBowl, one
week away to see
which team of
scarlet supremos

will
be champions of the world

the world
being America, it is a
killer synecdoche,

poet as villain

not with you
thetefore against you

further from grace
with my every little diatribe

SAD TO THINK

SAD TO THINK

can’t put
my finger on it

something seems
off

the wind feels odd
the TV
looks wrong

everyone I hear
feels that
the truth
must be hidden
cannot be
uttered at
all costs

the plot
has been lost
the record stuck

and those who
deny what we see with
our own
eyes

are believed

cannot put my
finger on it

seems like
the beginning of the end

we had
our run, had our time

self-destruct is
now on
override

sad to think what
we might have become
could have been