Republican Woman

March 29, 2017

I am she
Who burns the witch
Condemns to death
Other women
To die
Bleeding into
The Back alley

I am she
Who consumes
My sisters’ dreams
Praises laws
That restrict and bind
Regulate her body
Weaken her mind

I am she
The woman
Who hates women
Repudiates equality
Derides feminism
As a cult of ugly dykes
That hate men

I am she
Who diminishes herself
By despising her sisters
For their freedom
And aligns herself
With their oppressors
Out of envy and spite

I am she
Who shames
The sluts on birth control
Apologizes for rapists
Justifies sexual harassment
And cheerleads
Regressive attitudes

I am she
Who says
She wants
Men who are men
And women who are women
Masters and slaves
Obedience unto death

I am she
The pet of white men
Speaking their words
From a feminine
Paint smeared mouth
To shield them
From accusations of sexism

I am she
Mrs. misogyny
A lady
Of the eighteenth century
When women were property
And beatings
Kept the bitches in line

Meat Lovers’ President

March 27, 2017

When enemies are
what everywhere you perceive
enemies are
what you shall have
at the gates
swarming the border
teeming across the seas
enemies are what you receive
as increasingly you obsess
over their moves and words
you close yourself off to friends
more convinced daily, rightly
that you have none
no more
than the antelope in death
can consider
the attention paid it by hyenas
an act of camaraderie and compassion
as into pieces
it’s ripped and torn
aware at last
when surrounded
by carnivores
of your usefulness
as meat

Dinosaurs in Love

March 24, 2017

Cratered into earth
as a bullet into flesh
geological and physiological
wounds sharing in metaphor
impactful conjoinment
the devastation of a planet
the demise of a single beating heart
giving way to
new life to arise, and who knows
maybe you again
dozens of millions of years
after, and maybe me too
only this time
with wings

Name Brand Heart Attack

March 22, 2017

“Actor Portrayal”
read the caption on the commercial
just in case
we the viewers at home
might
for some sad reason
believe
Bayer® Aspirin
stalks fat white men
waiting for them
to fall to the restaurant’s cold tiled floor
clutching their chests
in cardiac arrest

Sick Fucker (a poem for John Eichelberger)

March 20, 2017

to go into politics
is to dedicate oneself
to public service
or this should be the motive
the only one we might call
praiseworthy, thus
politician is a noble profession
it’s what, at the very least
we should expect
and if we’re especially fortunate
then we the people
will be blessed the opportunity
to cast the ballot
for politicians in possession
of lofty goals and empathic agendas
but when I see
an elected legislator
whose mission as a politician
is to strip educators,
our children’s teachers,
of paid sick days
all I can do is wonder
what the fuck
why the fuck
how the fuck and
who the fuck
would go into politics
to do that

Noose Cycle

March 17, 2017

From ‘suspicious package’
to ‘terror raid’
within an hour
the news cycle has its course
a clear path ahead
in jaundiced headlamps
lighting God’s road
to higher ratings
when questions don’t sell
blind assertions deliver
the public can’t fear
what the public ain’t told
they must, they must
be stoked their terror lust
who did it
who could it be
assume a Muslim, why not
put that backpack
on the light rail track
so as to curtail
our American liberties
marks and pigeons
dopes and suckers
too easy to exploit
biology
give them lust, give them fear
pornography and enemies
jerking off together
tiny hand in tiny hand
white knuckled on the nuclear cock

Immigration’s Bounty

March 15, 2017

they call it
a flood of immigration
as if the movement of people
from one nation to another
is a natural disaster
akin to land deluged
homes rotted
loved ones drowned
crops and livestock blighted
and potential years
of grief fomented
it is our language
that twists our sensitivity
makes us blind to suffering
and it is our choice
of words
we must choose
to make ourselves better
human beings
eliminate the flood
and in its place
admit the truth
celebrate
the bounty of immigration
embrace the plentitude
the thanksgiving
the immigrants have brought
to your table
do not run away cowardly
for higher ground
hiding behind craven
dry-land levees

Skin Shield

March 13, 2017

Although I am to blame
and I do take
unto myself
full responsibility
up to the point
of actually turning myself in
it was an accident

Dark clouds threatened
me without umbrella
nervously checking the sky
casting a trepid eye
at the gathering menace
my glance
by happenstance
alighted on a rooftop
a little jutting triangle of shingle
over a dormer window
where, inexplicable
there was
as if tossed there
in careless flight
a gun
of the hand variety
not a revolver
barely distinguishable
as black and shiny
as the damp glistening
slate on which it laid
enticed, I dropped my book bag
climbed up on the porch rail
got a foothold on a column
and slithered upward
from there
leaning over
clutching a drainpipe
for support
reaching… reaching
fingertips questing
I got it
snagging it by the trigger guard
from all the rain
all was slick
my shoes included
the gutter bowed outward
I slipped
gun on my finger
and crashed into shrubbery
whether by me or a branch
the trigger was pulled and went
more than click
where the firearm went
wasn’t evident
disentangled from the bush
I scooped up my belongings
and walked swiftly
calm on the outside
away
a gunshot had broken
the silence of morning
but I was white
I was middle-aged
surely, I was good
more than a block away
a horrible shrill cry
“Alberto!” cut me down to bone
already panicked
adrenalin erupted
my alcoholic heart
hammered my ribcage
murdering me for
every beer, every drink
all those 3-pack a day smokes
hemorrhage, stroke, cardiac arrest
took me all simultaneously
in my flight from
grief and agonized discovery
but I made it home
hot with cold sweat, dizzy
in Netflix’s remake
of One Day at a Time
I found comfort
and fortunately for me
Alberto, who took
a nine millimeter bullet to the face
was a Latino teenager
so they all said it was gang related
and white people in the neighborhood
they all figure he had it coming
and their support
more than anything
has kept me from confession

My America: 1933 – 2017

March 9, 2017

As horrors unfurl
like a tattered flag
caught in ill wind
as the storm front comes
to darken dawn
the road ahead
is as bleak
as the low sky encroaching
yet we maintain
the weather
will change
though often not before
lightning strikes, tornados spawn
and flood sweeps the flag
fallen
out to sea

Baptism of the Kraken

March 6, 2017

in the trials and errors
of brainwashing
there was found no quick solution
no torturous mental break
no drug to administer
for immediate guaranteed results

what was uncovered
was desire
the target must want it
on some level the message
maybe deep down
maybe not so buried
must be craved
over who they are
what they believe
this would appear to explain
why a steady battery
of conditioning
promoting victimization
and scapegoating
has had the greatest success

it’s them
not you
you’re innocent
they’re to blame
in its simplicity
the victims now breathe easy
saved from the tidal breakers
of their own culpability
absolution is theirs
and all their problems
all their failures
are not theirs
they fail
because of others
live in poverty
because of others
they are who they are
because of others

this is the torrent into which
they willingly wade
this is the wash
of the great white brain
brined in a distillate of whine
pickled in pious self-pity
all sense of who they were
what they believed
drowned in decades
of radio-wave rot-gut
and televised piss
and by the time
from these impure waters they arise
they are born again
renewed to the world
hateful beasts from the deep
setting jaundiced eyes
on the humanity they despise