... up against the wall when the revolution comes

Unbeliever

A bargain for the record

It’s not like society owes us or anything

So we cast our cigarette butts into the street

Or fuck little children for our gratification

Laughing because morality is

Only by our definition.

 

By an unwritten accord

We build a wall for the unjust

Pockmarked with indecision and hairline

Fractures of someone else’s conscience

High enough so that the final executions

Are hidden from retribution.

 

To die by the sword

Defending our honor when accused

Only pools of blood to mar our presence

Fighting only to protect our indignity

Of facing the wall that has been built

Not seeing our part in the solution.

Red October

There’s only a few days per year when the leaves are really changing. It starts out small, with just a dash of color here and there—first mistaken for bad light or a damaged branch.

Then, one day, color bursts out. Red, yellow and orange, and all variations in between explode from the branches. The rustle of leaves in the wind begins to harbor a n ominous feel, and you can begin to hear the promise of cold winds.

A few days later it rains, or maybe it just gets really windy. And the leaves are gone, reduced to dry brown husks that whisper sadly as they get blown down the street.

Flagged

Sometimes an act of patriotism is really an act of antipathy.

Velocipedal

So his hair isn't long

an he doesn't have a beard

and the flowing robes of Mormon pictures

have been supplanted by spandex

specialized clothing that allows

for the body to breathe

to maximize performance

racing along the pavement

and through the four way stop sign

and the cut off driver

says "Christ!"

Walking along the path

grazing weeds sodden

by the late summer humidity

a couple regards the past

with only the delicate flavor of happy remembrance

their love polished and creased by age

and their moment interrupted

by a fast moving bicycle

and the old man says "Christ."

And it seems that the wind

is much cooler when you ride fast

and only the trail seems to mind

that your feet press hard upon the petals

and you face each moment

with a speed that's only limited

by the strength of your legs

locomotion that is self sufficient

but its your mind that realizes

that your efforts are

dedicated to finding

Christ on a bicycle.

 

Sky without birds

I cried

Out when I was assaulted

With the intention of spandex morality

Stretching thin

As if a head of a drum

To be beaten.

Crushed

Progress means building up upon your own garbage.

Crape Diem

Another m*f who will be up against the wall when the revolution comes.

355 Dragonflies

Maybe I should have been bitter

because the land that

used to be my private secret

soon became the stomping grounds

for the gigantic concrete feet

of society that is in a rush

to get to

nowhere in particular.