Monday, May 12, 2014

Test, Test . . . One, Two . . .

Moderate emotional damage
amazing specifics of hammered lies
people and their lives really stink
tap the top of the microphone
clear your throat and speak,

“Knives are sharp, moments are dull, why don’t you suck on my big toe.”

We can’t help but hate others
in the grand way we hate ourselves.

A poets soul
in my remote control
the Hindu Gods put it there
I switch channels in a make believe delirium
searching for divinity in underwear ads
and reality TV.

If you point your finger at me I will snap it
and hand it back to you.

Fools gold
pleasant views
million dollar endorsements in athletic shoes
we rummage through the pop culture rubble
picking up the pieces of a crippled community
coded messages to confirm
internal confirmation has been received
by the host
that is sucking us all dry
we want your money
we want your soul
and the death vultures
will celebrate your corpse
if your next of kin

can float a loan.

Head down 
speak clearly into the microphone . . .