A Meditation for Monday Morning
Proud, lifelong members
of a mediocracy –
they plan to die here.
A quiet harbor.
All that fills the air’s the scent
of dead fish, stinking.
Managed by seagulls
screeching high above our heads,
the daily droppings
are their directives.
In the belly of THIS beast
I envy Jonah.
American Religion, Inc
You deny us mercy, grace,
claiming you’re the master race.
You’re no stranger to my sins –
drowning, you just hold it in.
By your lie this truth you’ve taught:
“holy” means you’ve not been caught.
Rightly we who seek the sun
take one look at you – and run.
What we all know you can’t see:
you’re in chains but think you’re free,
keeping up that grim facade,
blowing bullshit back at God.
The wind came shoeless,
asking back the grief she’d left
on her last visit.
I served expresso,
glad to have the space of course
for new expansions.
and the flapping fears of fools,
we laughed together.
She smiled so sweetly,
sweeping up the jagged parts,
then took ’em with her.
See the big dogs saunter past,
blessing hydrants, all around?
Those aren’t raindrops on the grass –
that’s your taste of “trickle down.”
Moon-watching May night –
next door neighbor draws her bath
while I drink sake.