No tears

Having only some

understanding of your language

there is no clarity

Still don’t trust the message

Masks do not cover

there is no truth in your eyes

Can’t see your lips moving

yet we still know you lie

In some distant future

puzzling over skeletal remains

they won’t tell you from other

lower forms of life

No tears shed for your extinction

Asylum

The clean white sands of distant beach

A coveted shoreline

bathed in optimism

The hope that anything could be better

Or the sterile blandness

that only institutional grade paint can capture

Antiseptic perfume masks

the urine soaked safety

of supervised narcotic therapy

Poisons more palatable to state sanction

No more white sands await

No stadium could contain your madness

Asylum like an ocean

and no water to drink

 

Put to sea

Graded on style points

vapors only form illusions

Hold no shape of their own

Rearrange the molecules

yet they still slip through your fingers

When all is hot gas

fill up your balloon

We’ll have a laugh when it bursts

You’ll be stripped bare

down to your pathetic denial

No more safe harbor

for your ship of fools

 

No sparrows

This pajama nation

fed on Slim Jims and fiction

Smart phones for weapons

they man digital foxholes

Style over substance

and strange advice

Phone calls with awkward silences

while instincts of institutional preservation

thunder mightily from the east

There is some subtle shading of difference

wide as the gulf

between realization and acceptance

Believing that no sparrow must fall

Treacle

You are not essential

Salute the heroes

It’s all for them

or it’s for the children

Targets unassailable by design

I am Eric Cartman, hear me roar

Respect my authority!

We’re all in this together

We’ll get through this

These trying

These difficult

These challenging

These unprecedented

Times

When this bottle is empty

suck your thumb

Go back to sleep

When you wake

they will change your diapers too

 

The un-season

In our angelhood

Spring emerged in light

from Winter’s sun waning

She came as a pale girl

dancing barefoot from the forest

into awakening meadows

A blank canvas blossoms in colors

Grows in light and life

then fades to a wraith in Summer’s cauldron

Now the axis has turned

the days grow longer

Still light and color elude us

She comes now as a grey matron

in her shawl hobbled and bent

Down to the river bank

where she will lay down to sleep

Calendar pages flutter in the wind

and time remains still

Inflation

Perverted by language

Wittgenstein’s bane

Basis for human constructs

a pliable tool

to use for conflation

Distorting translation

Manipulation by inflation

The devaluation

of your currency and law

Inflation of panic more hot air

to inflate your own egos