Craig Kite

While you weren't thinking

   Hacked out in lines

   The darkness cuts hopes with a baseball bat 

      Chucks things taken for granted 
         Back into the woods 
     To be absorbed by ferns 

        There's an economic depression 
Blooming in my mind 

I stare out the window of the train   
As if it's a television set 

   As if I'm not flying thru a great snow  
And forget 

   I am an animal 

Who's never been in a bread line 

The fake news isn't funny anymore 

Cataracts in the soup 
Split pea brain sycophants in the tv snow  
They sound like Pleasantville plastic Ken and Barbie   
Trying to sell me Tupperware 
Tunisian pearls 
And the myth that being a billionaire 
means that one is smart 

An assumption 
           in a sumthin  
                  is a white noise 
Sure, sounds good. 

Is a factoid   At this point   
Is a tabloid 
Did you notice that your source there is a rag?
Freedom from censorship 
means the liberty to tag 
your neighbors name 
in a pile 
of your other neighbor's 

When I grow up 
I wanna be a soldier 
In the liberal
War on Christmas 

News is getting olds
To vote 
Their fearful consciences 
Trembling like autumn leaves   
In tiny chairs 
That I'm growing into 

Can someone factcheck my opinion on this?
I don't even know where to start now 

I present it to you 
On marble steps 
That I slept on once
With a million other populist zombies 
Crawling up while prodded back by cop
(A boot print on the face 
is not the cool story of scars) 
Or waded through by red-striped stilts,
Harried inconsequential underlings 

There is a golden thread of anti-intellectualism 
Weaving thru each sleepy head 
No guard against the static 
No filter for the action figures bobbing murky waters 
of above-ground backyard suburban status symbol pools 

Craig Kite says:
       DON'T turn out the vote 
Tell them to stay on their couches 
      Until they're done doing their homework

The eyes are cloudy and prostituted 

Stockholm syndrome is the working stiff smile  

I  feel so undereducated 

I feel like a bourgeoning elitist in denial  

My brother borrowed two houses in MD
And says I have more money than him 
He's right and I also own nothing 
And eat lettuce in a New York City gym 

The fake news isn't funny anymore 
It's turning my adorable mother 
into my ideological enemy 

Steve Bannon isn't a Football coach 


  I am completely in control 

        Of my Anger 

   I am safely far away

From my anger 
                Controlling me 

I can assure you

                 That I am Not seeing red 

I am seeing steady swirls 

        Of warm white rising steam

I am WELL aware 

                   That They are in control now 

It is palpable 

           That they are Dominating me 

And the fact     
Of my cold eyes 

The I-will-take-you-down-motherfucker-

                   Face that I am making 

Is not a fact needs fucking checking 

         I am making it purposefully 

There are PLENTY of things 

     That I'm not in control of 

My Anger 

        Is not one more way 

That they can get to me 

           These two black widows 
        in my pupils 

The shudders slow releasing 

The tectonic plates plates I'm shifting 

The rumbling as I breathe 

   The snake that is my seething  
         Extending from my long sleeves   

The black cloud I'm projecting 

(It will rain and when it rains)

       The rustling in my leaves 

The dumb-haired doll I'm stabbing 

Is exactly the right reaction 
      To times fucked up as these 

I do not need to apologize 
For making you feel 
At Thanksgiving dinner this year   
Because I brought my own Tofurkey 
And Steve Bannon isn't a Football coach 
And you don't 
The concept 

The Anger 

      That I'm intentionally 

    allowing myself 

to show 

       At this moment 

Is exactly 

             The appropriate