The Last Poem Of 2020
It’s the final hour of twenty-twenty
& I don’t think Poets are gonna save us
Most of them last seen bragging on facebook
About winning a fixed fight
Afraid to look at the corruption
In their own ranks
Pyramid goes up to nowhere
But it sells big dreams
But I know Poets that would
Change the World if they could
Some of them still try to do it
It’s been a hard year
Nine months of isolation
Like a pandemic is just a bad movie plot
My hair grows long and wild
I miss my friends
But love the messages
They’re all out trying to save the World
& some stupid fascist
Tries to cling to power
Never sees that power is an illusion
Everything is impermanent
It reminds me of the Buddhist roommate
That I used to have in Philly
I would ask him how he felt about Bush
He would answer I know he is impermanent
Biting The Hands Of Our Gatekeepers
Seems like the Poetic thing to do
They’re all like power drunk politicians
Full of thoughts and cons to take over nothing
Or maybe they were just busy building themselves
Ego, there is nothing bigger
No craft, no art, nothing
They will come at you so arrogant
They can’t even look you in the eye
That’s fine, they’ll never see the whites of your teeth
Take a chunk, let the blood flow, let people see it
Let the blood flow, let it pump from the heart
Like words they can no longer conjure
Let it soak in
Biting the hands of our gatekeepers
Seems like the Poetic thing to do
It’s probably not going to free anybody
It’s probably not going to change anything
Food chains will still be food chains
Mafias will still be mafias
The Power structure will still exist
As much as Poets hate power
But you, the underdog took a bite of something real
Two Turkey Vultures In The Road
Standing, puking
Over roadkill possum
From last night
Cloak of death
Black feathers,
Black feather hoods
Crown their heads
Natures scavengers
Part of the process
They step aside
As I walk the dog by
Then go about their business
Dumpster Fire Press 