Intervening Time

Nothing blows

my flight plans asunder

like the principle of scarcity:

When my left brain concludes

and my cost-benefit analysis proves

I’ll starve in a week. Ten days maybe.

Two weeks if I diet but

that’s pushing my luck.

The sermons of sacrifice

have lost their shine

and we have the numbers

to take on their tanks and tasers.

Take down their drones

and armored police.

I’m not sure I’ve conveyed

all I wanted to say

when I began this non-metric epistle,

but I’ve meant every word

in the interim. I don’t believe

their bullshit line

and neither should you.

You’ve got to know

the lay of the land by now

and it doesn’t lay 

in your favor

like Mary in sophomore year.

Just the opposite. But the profit and loss

justifies an all out assault

on the bankers. A full confrontation

on their large island homes.

A fight to the finish

we’ve yet to ignite.

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Small Audience

Small Audience

The Day of the Poets Rebellion

started w/the above stanza.

But once it had

its kale chips

it was full steam ahead!

All transcendentalists to the fore!

The Beats and Bards 

of Victorian Kind

can pick up the rear.

I’ve a hunch this one’s

getting away from me

as the often do 

Which you’d know

if you read

my blog

or bought 

the virgin editions

I stapled myself.

One of which

I recently rescued

from a book burning.

Re-read it and brought the guy

w/the gasoline

twelve matches, figuring one spark

lights another so all 

the drafts

will cinder.

I’m thinking the reader,

the original point of purchase,

too haphazard a guy

to actually believe or recall 

any crap I wrote.

Besides, the cops only want

yes or no 

so spouting my shit

will get you killed

and thus my audience

gets smaller each day.