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
Sometimes
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
bullshit
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
Oh
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
Uncomfortable
At Thanksgiving dinner
this year
Because I brought my
own Tofurkey
And Steve Bannon isn't
a Football coach
And you don't
Understand
The concept
Of
Epistemology
The Anger
That I'm intentionally
allowing
myself
to show
At this moment
Is exactly
The appropriate
Response
To
This
FUCKED
UP
Situation
