Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

after midnight
I'm typing a poem of sorts
no, not the kind in Poetry magazine
or the kind texted from an iphone
or meticulously carved from
traditional forms and the mutter
language
that matters like people sprawled
in the shock of death
from a gun fired indiscriminately
at the court building
or the school cafeteria
or the 4th of July parade
I can't write the horror
so I revert to solipsistic syllabalizing
mirror-staring
noting how my tie hangs loosely
the white shirt wrinkled
better thinking about the cosmetic self
rather than the nuts and bolts of society
the gunfire
the bullsh*t speeches about prayers, tears
and the doing nothing to prevent
any madman from buying
in a store, on the street
a semi-automatic death machine
I'm so tired of empty shells and speeches
littering the American landscape
you would think we are the Middle East
all that desert religion and tribal warfare
no, we are free to murder here for no reason
at all
just like we type poems
of no consequence
just annoyed with some lady's fat rear
and ill-fitting spandex
or some guy's pushing in line
rude and crude you too buddy boo
so too
we have the freedom to self-express
our vainglorious nihilism
building a bitter
America

our system has created the great demand
to manipulate an economy that MUST be maintained
or else we face the real truth of who we are...
or who we believe we should be to BE
we walk the streets in a silent fear
who has the next weapon of defense
the defense of our very own people

idiots turn to a fake president for solace
a fake solace that is pure fake disney
as an escape from what we truly NEED
that shaky belief lying in the shadows,
waiting like a hungry fox for its nest kill
to sustain life at any and all costs,
we bankrupt our very selves to maintain
that which we failed to sustain

(thanks, TIS for your inspiration... well done!)

our elected public servants
fail the masses massively
each and every day, spending
most of their time raising money
for their next election, or
doing the bidding of those very
people/ corporations that got them there
the system is broken, corrupted
by lobbyists and henchmen with mansions
this is not who we are as a people
manipulated and forgotten by a handful
of greedy power brokers, they all must go

well constructed danno...the poem doesn't hit you over the head, per se
but still delivers the right punch

Guns and bombs solve everything. We still have that idea. It's who we are. Ingrained. Right to our core.