Bed Bug Bites and Republican Shites

Gone and I believed
never to return
septic ideologies
eradicated disease
verminous infestation
yet in waves of frustration
each once more
breaking again
upon the shore
frothing mad
unpredictable currents
soul-sucking riptides
to tear away the spirit
leaving rotting flotsam in the surf
and so they are back
Nazis, pertussis and measles
fascist bedbugs undercover
sick in the street
bent double hacking
whooping feverish covered
in itching sores, swollen red
but this is the least of worries
as ahead the ovens and showers
await their encore

Wither Weather

If we do not see the beauty
in ruin and splendorous rot
then we are best prepared
when we are prepared
to look away, to turn our backs
for if not in ignorant bliss
then what we are about to see
all of us soon witness, in our sight
is agony’s list
misery’s majesty
her step by step of pain and death
extinction’s irrevocable proposition
ground down upon our arrogance
as in blind denial, unified we sing
all is carefree
all is fine
all is song, women and wine
until the record in heat warps and bubbles
the Earth, refusing the dance, crosses its legs
and the vineyards in drought do wither

Darkness Saves

nacreous necrosis of roses
bleeding across borders
their last venomous gasp
surge, swirl
the seething kaleidoscope
reel, roil
the wreathing tourniquet
chromatose decay
brain dead
convoluted gray
leached of vim and verve
beyond the vivid curve
spectral vision fail
shades pulled
close out the light
no rage
no fight
dying only
endless night

Street Tree

Parrots in the carrotwood
perched on and hung from boughs
comes a shower of husk and seed
brown, red rain of hail clattering against steel
automobile parked below
the bounty borne of branches
owner of vehicle rushes in
smacks lead pipe upon the gray-barked bole
scored in layers of gang-carved graffiti
rapping repeatedly
birds screeching outrage fly
burst of flapping emerald fury skyward
discontent, settling on power lines in rows
baleful eyes cast downward
watching and waiting
ever patient, ever hungry
their claim, their stake
a call to battle made
returning in greater numbers
reinforcements: squawking, rasping, chittering
war upon man planned on high
and soon the descent
into the tree’s plentiful store
and in the aftermath
a bellyful of victory
a beamer shellacked in shit

The Plan (Such as it is)

missiles slicing atmosphere
rising into, obtaining orbit
rocket tech in private hands
corporations in competition
a space race
that does not
symbolize a cold war’s
prick-waggling proclivities
but rather
epitomizes what power
may in wealthy hands be held
a raging priapus of cash
jacking off to heaven
in the iron fist of corporate dominance
under threat of money and might
nations shudder
nuclear threat by billionaire consent
no choice but to concede
to pack the courts
warp justice
invert progress
bring back the age
of master and slave
serf and king
the rebirth of knowing one’s station
keeping to one’s own kind
as seas rise and civilizations fall
to the lowlands
the unchosen, unworthy, unboughten
sent

Dead Boyfriend No. 9

“Your life
time will not abide”
she reads the engraved words
aloud
off the grave marker
“That’s a good one,” he says
pulling her closer
and then she smiles, draws the blade
from within her gown’s folds
sways drunkenly, indecisively
a moment unsure
in diffusive cloud-covered moon-glow
before knowing
now is when
the when of now

Kubrick was Right

rehabilitation or
punishment:
radical behavioral modification
stripping a man of free will

this is the crux of Alex
member of a murderous rape gang
brought in by law
to answer
for his atrocities against society

in novel
he reforms of his own volition
tired of violence and crime
he wants a job, family
perhaps, love and penitence
the author forgives the boy
because, maybe, boys will be boys

in film
there is no redemption
visual witnesses
as the audience is
to sexual assault and homicide
Alex endlessly strives to ingratiate
“my friends…” is pleading, pandering
but he is never reformed
the director does not forgive
determines free will is overrated
if not outright fiction

Kubrick concludes
if we can eradicate evil from the individual
by science, then yes
me must rehabilitate
whereas Burgess says, “no
the punishment is too severe”

the optimist believes wrongly
criminality will self atone
the realist understands truly
utterly, it must be crushed

Untitled Disaster No. 1

Powerlines explode into frayed dangling shreds
scorching blackened trenches in concrete
helicopter circles
sirens scream and converge
from every cardinal point
darkness smothers
only the telephone left aglow
full bars whispering the secret
there’s no such thing as alone

Faked

Too long, too mighty
kings of terror
half a century then some
at last diminished
brought low by a desire to be high
to be made great, fatally, again
when what it is
is what it seeks to be
doesn’t believe it, in fact, is
descent swift inevitably strikes
and thus the plunge, the plunder
cast off the world stage
economic capsize
in a self-made squall
railing against dual coasts
east, west, left, right
the center, weak, cannot hold
and collapse it comes
it does
free-falling far
into itself
internal crushing
a singularity of matryoshka dolls
forever inward
down and down
thus we are compressed
under endless pressure
brought to bear
by fear of progress
are we reined back
to the glee of competitor and enemy

Untitled Car Poem 2

KC40
their idea of luxury for you
all of your favorite things
encased in a Volvo
and what might
these cherished ideals be
is it a vehicle of your loftiest ideals
does it embody
family, health, home
a car more than a car
finely calibrated automotives are love
anti-lock brakes bliss
retractable cup-holder orgasm
your greatest desire, supreme joy
contained in a little machine