artists and conmen

dreams and dreamers
waltzing with
language in cages
marked by two or three words
economical in essence
the first few lines
that the poet conjures
are usually the best
simple and birthed from
the minds of young terrorists
with phrases that lend meaning
to the symmetry of sullen sorrows
as we walk softly in the median night

another day
and another dollar
inflationary tales
that remain unspent
with reluctant sinners
that refuse to repent
the president is a pig
and your modern god is absent
the school buses are all empty
as the dragon dreams of dandelions

bowing and scraping like pack dogs
captured in an underworld
and hungry for something more
peace is such a panic stricken proposition
as the pageantry of war
pervades the social mind

the beast has claimed the madhouse
remodeling it into a manic mansion
of machiavellian machinations
and the gangs are gathered
in blue suits meant for
slavery hues
waiting for lsd
to addle their inhibitions

unfiltered by circumstance
the internet has invented a million stars
and the social credit system is rising
but i refuse to upgrade
downplayed, downgrade
i’d rather be defined as obsolete
than one of them

wandering around graveyards
of delightful descent
with passion killed
and recycled ten times over
i drift from task to task
and woman to woman
tired, nearly expired
and outside of it all

i’ve been polishing my shoes all week
waiting for that wayfaring smile
with eyes that endure
and stare a long mile

yet here i sit
with worn slippers
that mark middle aged territory
chased and erased
as i gaze in the mirror
upon red eyes
and lines on my face
all too apparent
and difficult to embrace

slouching on a pink shore
give me one more bottle of wine
to imbue and renew
distant rays of sunshine

in the end
the word always returns
as a poem, a pattern
to help me find my way home




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