FORECAST
scry
me a river
the forecaast
was fairy tale
and real sunny
but barely
an hour after
the holocaust
the debt
collectors
were up
and about
rat-cockroach hybrids
still actively mutating
they used all their
rapidly evolving
extra
sensory perceptions
to scurry across
every size and shape
of radioactive
landscape
tracking down each
debt defaulting flash or firestorm
strike survivor
remind them
of their every financial
transgression
reinstating every
legal redline
FOR THE RECORD
won’t pretend
to be on the right
side of history
too old now
to make a diffetence
or for anyone
to care
whose side I’m on
for the record,
I support your protests
for justice, freedom and
against this
horrendous
suffering inflicted
on human beings; love
your expression
of humanity
this for the record but
realize my old world
the world
that assaults you, maligns
you
is now
beyond the pale;
has outlived its purpose
(did it serve
any purpose?)
has outstayed its welcone
so when
(act of mercy) wheel me
over a cliff down
into the ocean in
my wheelchair
best bundle up this old
dead corrupt world
with me
wheel it over as well
PANIC LITE.
moral panic
Janet!
something in your pants
something wriggling
in your panties
threatening every
aspect of your identity
have to go
airtight, watertight
totally clamp down
if no one can
breathe
how do you hope
to
however can
you expect to
guide the world
to the light
(nothing we fear
more than your light)
****
moral
panic, Janet!
let’s not forget
those who began it
TAKE
take the money
take our words
push us into
madness we
have no say it
want no
part of
still have no
coherent argument
how and why
we are here at all
THE MUSIC
the music is dangerous
the artwork
is dangerous
the dancing is dangerous
the slogans are dangerous
if
they carry on
they carry on
they will destroy
this Empire
go for it
my sweets
you are
my only solution
BLOTTED
the lie spreads
seeps into, flows
across the page
as soon
as pen hits the page
commiting such
magnificent untruth
to screen
and paper
you need
air-tight law
to protect the lie
from truth’s
unholy power
make sure it
feels safe
has the space
required
to enact its alchemy
turning blotted
copybook
ink spilled across
so many fronts
to rivers
oceans
of blood
(enough
to paint the world
twice over)
poems 2 die for