Downward Forward

Novel pandemics, one then another will shock the world in numbing jolts until nothing is done.

Vaccines are not developed.

Masks and social distancing are too exhausting.

Hospitals are shuttered.

Rich doctors retreat to the countryside, anonymous.

Morgues are replaced with mass graves as madder and madder politicians increase their power, threaten nuclear annihilation and encourage their followers to burn libraries, attack science labs and universities and murder anyone who pronounces tomato ‘tomahto.’

Our future is sadistic glee.

Our future is drainage and sewage swamping our cities as farmlands spontaneously combust in horrible heats believed untold, though their coming, a century on was clarionned and broadcast as others jammed fingers into ears of those who might hear.

Sad, tedious, diseased death and a mushroom flash to capture the end on the wall in nuclear shadow.

Driven Mad by Arugula – How the Right Wing Has Lost Their Minds

An oldie and not a goodie because it’s just more and more fucking true by the god damn day.

Midland Prose

There’s nothing you can do for a Republican to educate them. They are victims, being persecuted to the ends of the Earth.  They live in a world where they deny global warming and evolution and now, many of them are denying the existence of sexual harassment, claiming it to be a left-wing political tool or something women will just make up in order to get their rent paid.  It’s almost beside the point to show them the statistics for the numbers of women who never come forward and out their abusers and rapists out of fear – fear of the exact sort of sick attitude the right-wing is all to quick to go and display.  Facts are stupid things in their world, and they will ignore them to their own detriment.

You can’t call them racists because it’s racist to point out racism, and soon, their talking point will be…

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Journalism 2020

Once, calls and hollers
eager pressers pulling at the leads
frothing sputum splattering off the flews
hungry for the shit, the scoop
to sniff the ass of truth for real
perked ear microphones branded and bristling
jammed into the face of power
so power might choke
on the angry cocks of maddened demanding media

And then there’s now
bored and lazy wrists offering cell phones
aimed in the general direction of whoever’s speaking
lips flapping, vocals spouting, shit stirring
records, consumes and regurgitates lies unquestionably
microphone noses shoved up their own assholes
no truth in those dark, dank caverns
uncaring and unaware and unafflicted
the press become unpressing and indifferent

A segue…

Poetry has fallen by the wayside. It is moldering in idiot ruin. Other things are going on, but for now two from Japan… the last of the poetry… for now.

CARP IN THE KATABIRA RIVER
tailswitch
flick to the left
to the right
maintaining position
steady against current
against grasping undertow
beneath the suido-michi bridge
safe from the gaze
of the carnivorous
raptor shrieking skies

…and of course and obviously a fucking Hai-fucking-Kooooo…

Stockings hung to dry
Despite precipitation
Futility reigns

and that one’s called: Broke Ass Junkies on Tour

The Heartless Heartlands

Find the soft side
stick it in
carve out the compassion there
cut it sharp
excise the growth
throw away the joy and hope
now feel them wriggle
and from the infected abscess
see them fly and swarm
heavenward
where they blot the light
conceal the stars
but in the darkness between unseen
the disease
thrives and breeds
the spreading epidemic
risen from indifference
lack of care
the choice not to notice
to purposefully ignore
this is victory
mine is mine
yours is yours
all the rest
the sickly squalid horde
festering vermin
inhuman filth… an infection
and at last the cycle is done
the disease points the finger back
and judges itself pure

Hot Damn

What I understand to expect
is not there
inside is a reflection of the universe
a vast emptiness
pocked by infrequent
indescribably distant
pricks of light
hopeless to illuminate
the far and wide dark

And there are people who say
we are composed of the stuff of stars
as too are remote rocks of iron and ice
adrift in endless indifference
most of everything is nothingness
hard vacuum, space
and if we are stardust
born on solar winds
then so too are we the void

In deep meditation and deeper contemplation
we barely exist
and what there is of us
howls bleak and hateful
trapped by gravity
wrapped in sinew and flesh
eight cold minutes away as the photon flies
from Mother’s loving pyre

Care, You Cunts!

If I cared would I drive at all?
In the face of mass extinction
And the suffering of future generations?
Was that the challenge
posed and proposed
upon the back of the First Whore’s jacket?
“I don’t
really care
do U?”
Spelled like Prince spelled
or like a snotty teenaged text
that’s certainly not remotely trying to
“Be Best”
What is this surgically enhanced immigrant woman
enslaved by prenuptials and wealth
trying to tell me?

Here’s what we know…
at our southern border
immigrant children are being thrown in cages
abused, raped, tortured
separated from parents
the sick are denied medication
and there, on our border
illegally imprisoned and deprived
eighty held in a cell built for twelve,
they are dying,
and if I cared
truly gave a motherfucking fuck
wouldn’t I be armed
shooting ICE cunts at the gate
in their ICE cunt piggy faces?

Wouldn’t I charge,
bayonetted in righteous glee
impaling and firing as the pigs flee?

Yes, I would.
Melania the Whore is right.
I must conclude,
I really don’t care, but
do you?

Please, do.
For all our sakes, do.

Shocking Footage or Move Over Mondo Cane

Numbing onslaught of camera video caught
presented to the public
for outrage and edification
entertainment and enjoyment
a black mother in the rectangle framed
her babe in arms
dragged from vehicle
white cop, shakily kept in the lens
badge and uniform, navy blue and milk skinned
baby in onesie fumbled
tike strikes asphalt
mama recovers and
laterals to dad in the car
pig snorts and tackles dear ma
charges the bitch with obstruction
and reckless endangerment of a minor
oink oink the LEO victorious goes
and then, the next clip
on a bus
elderly man shuffles to deboard
taking long, so slow, dragging time
endless hobble to exit at the designated stop
but the healthy white man’s waiting
oh, how he’s patient
temper under control and law-abiding until snap
he shoves, mad and face rage-contorted and
the cripple goes shit flat out the door
an old man and his walker
splat upon concrete and curb

only two episodes are these
shown in a row
tasty eye-candy for hungry-eyed masses…

WITNESS!
The Depravation!
SEE!
The Filth!
Never before in the annals of horror
has such shocking prejudice
been brought to the big screen
in lurid
true to life
amazing color
YOU’LL THRILL!
YOU’LL MARVEL!
YOU’LL CHEER FOR MORE!
Nothing can prepare you for
the abyss
of what
we call
the 24/7
news
cycle

Strategic Black-Out

to the tired, the poor
and the huddled what-have-yous
once the light of liberty beckoned
welcomed by rich-man’s consent
but the times have changed
where a century ago
robber barons required grist
blood to brave the jungle
fresh skin
out of which to sew new wallets
masses with asses
ripe for lashing scourge and branding iron
numbers game of death
Chinese per track mile
Irish per canal foot
those days however
of grinding immigrant bones in the mills
choking lungs in mines
broken on the company wheel
of misfortune and debt
are as they say
over
not over the moon in love
just over
the affair gone sour
modernity’s machines
automation and stream-lining
assuring that no longer are they wanted
by billionaire decree
the flow of laborers
into a land lacking labor
must be dammed
and the dusky skinned
double-damned and banned
thus the country greased by poverty’s sweat
is bled dry of funds, of tax, of budget
except to military and law
because all that matters now
is the hoards of armed men
to protect their hordes of wealth
and suppress the depleted populace
in ignorance and violence
in disinformation and exultations
as capitalism’s endgame
displays, unashamed at last
its final ploy

Lobster Dinner

Horned carapace
Striking from beyond the grave
A crustacean wronged, trapped
Hauled airward into hideous arridity
Sorted, packaged, shipped
Across a continent
Two thousand five hundred miles high flown
And descended
Unto the hungry
Where unceremoniously
From polystyrene coffin torn
Saved from live burial
Only to be
Into the boiling cauldron dropped
But after death
One last chance at vengeance
Chitinous wound from exoskeleton delivered
To the thumb of the opposable fingered beast
Who subsequently
With relish
Devours