The Young Lords of the New Machine

Who are your machine overlords?

Sinister masterminds

Loathsome ego

They wear no black hats

No gruesome warpaint

They came as heroes

In skinny jeans and Skechers

Fresh faced, unsuspecting

Young Lords of the New Machine

but they have succumbed to vampires

They are planet Renfield

until they too will walk the Earth

as the Undead

Small victories

Made the passage

Without my glasses

What is seen and isnt there

Colors and large shapes

Leave clear impressions

They remain trapped

In recollections

The details filled in

Deftly embellished

Minor chords

Of the days that we relished

Thought we’d arrived

When only passing through

Maybe left something

To improve the view

Most times we were shadows

Slipping by the sun

No time for celebration

For small victories that were won

Clarity through medication

I need to reach that state

of mindless sedation

to dull my impulses

of wanton predation

We’re all agents of chaos

we get to wear masks

So polite, aren’t we?

It depends who one asks

No one tells you anything

if you don’t want to hear

When no one can be honest

leaves only suspicion and fear

My truth serum is amber

it comes in a bottle green

enabling me to say anything

so you’ll know exactly what I mean

While others are prescribed to doses

meant to dull their thought

and leave them feeling envy

for things that others have got

For they could not have earned these rightly

It simply isn’t fair

Any falsehood to be forgiven

if it’s meant to show they care

These charlatans are so busy

setting all wrongs right

Incapable of understanding

when others put up a fight

These are useful idiots

meant to act as some others’ shill

They still have not discovered this

and I suspect they never will



The Future American Icon

Cherry red lips

Dark eyes so wide

Set upon a burnished canvas

Those brows plucked so clean

there’s always a camera

Make sure that you are seen

With your hair drawn back

Oh yes, now you’re made

And they’ll feed what you lack

Causes to crusade

One more empty skirt

an ego to feed

A monster created

for a champion, at need

The truth is you know nothing

The blind spots of youth

Spared the inconvenience

of hearing the truth

You’ll be inflated

You’ll believe your own press

You’ll declare great wonders

In spite of the mess

That you foist off as gospel

for this modern age

And your tee shirts like Guevara

will become all the rage

On English Bay

We departed the mountains in darkness

The Sun’s yawning stretch cross-continental

flailing at my back

Banks of artificial light burrow

through the mists to find the sea

Shadows of stone lay down

in the rearview

lost in night’s repose

The wet streaks the windows

Magnifies the twinkling lights

of the city below

Bridges arced with fireflies

spanned the straits

Midnight blue in glass

like blood from a wound

In a world tilted downhill

Touched ground on Hastings

and dissolved into the mists

Coffee House Irish Whiskey at 3:00 AM

Smoking hash with some freaks

in a cold flat under a bridge

Stranger in a strange land

No Heinlein Hero, I

I wandered off at dawn

til my boots found the sand

English Beat on my Walkman

Sunrise on English Bay