I speak the truth
when it comes
to the treachery
of images.
All artists do so
in their constructive lies,
negative though it sounds
the opposite is true.
Self perpetuation on the
division of the dialoque.
Books upon books
missing from invisible
shelves, and priorities.
The angel headed hipsters
are back and they are
ruining the neighborhood,
as always.
Acute history,
that is all you are
to me and my kind.
A humble living joke.
Be good boys and girls,
don’t take it so personally,
it’s all in good fun.
They said the same
of tortured elephants
and dancing bears.
I, but a child am I?
We, but children are we?
We don’t understand,
we must be patient.
Meanwhile make my shoes
and my bras
and charge the idiots
enough to hide the slaves.
Orange suits and
red finger tips from
the sewing needle,
pennies on the hour
if anything,
be good, you know
the rules by now.
How long I say?
How long must we
enable feeble intrege?
Willful cultural nearsightedness
and blatant willful
ignorance,
in an era of literal
free information.
Why is scrutiny not
inherent in national
dialoque?
Insult is not scrutiny,
it’s the behavior of a child
who did not here the word
no.
The descending beat
and rhythm keeps
me working again,
my heart stays beating
and so shall life
carry on.
Surrender is not for me,
and let it stop you
not,
for like me,
so shall life
carry on.
3/21/16
great poem