Pre-florescent streetlights

Coat the dark asphalt a dull orange

Once a soft white, the bulbs

Now worn and weathered

Like the flesh that wraps

Round these battle-weary bones and

The noise pollution and human stink

Has yet to contaminate my day

That dry time, where

The wind’s whisper is free to speak

And I can listen

And not think



21st Century Love


Love is a searing hot piss
after a night in the city

Love is a whore
at the end of the bar

Love is a 3rd abortion
Love is extortion

Love is a temp agency
receiving applications

Love is bleeding out
from the wound of an arrow

Love is a one-act play
penned by a Hallmark employee

Love is an ugly lie
from a pretty face

Love is the Devil's cut
not the angel's share

Love is a product
manufactured and sold
Love is cold

Love is a drowning polar bear
when the glaciers melt
Love is preached, rarely felt

Love is a download
in a programmed life

Love is a rabid animal
with a vicious bite

Love's not at the Gym
Love doesn't work out

Love is bizarre
Love is doubt

To the Working Class Slaves of Tomorrow

I'll begin by saying ...congratulations
and welcome to unreality
or Hell as I call it.

If your only aspirations are
to accumulate wealth and fit-in
simply acquire a trade or degree,
groom yourself to televised standards,
attain an occupation
based purely on monetary gain,
step on a few heads along the way
and gently plant your lips
upon a corporate ass
and you'll do just fine.

But if you aspire to actually live
within the real world
drop everything you know
or think you know, unlearn,
fulfill your end of the bargain
but have integrity and bow
to no man or woman,
read anything you can grasp,
have no limits in life or love,
lift those that lie below,
tear the insolence from those above.