All the Piggies

I stop a man in a black suit walking out of a business meeting over public education.
“Excuse me sir,
The shit on the sole of my shoe has a better morality than you

Sea side Nazi
Can you tell me where the Jew hides,
While you sleep in a warm self righteous bed?

Can you create a future that’s worth fighting for?
Can I trust that your greed doesn’t surpass your love for the common man
and the future generations to come?
Or are you a pig rolling around in slop you call gold?”

Are you the inspiration behind the nefarious deeds
to those who face the consequences?

All the forgotten children
Turned into pimps and whores

Are you as guilty as those goons
For those whacked pigs?
As the aspiring musician with the long hair and guitar strung over his shoulder?

Were you the glisten in her eye
Carving helter-skelter in to the walls of her mind?
Like she did to his hairless chest

When you look through his eyes,
Eyes not unholier than yours,
Is your face marked with a snout?”

Inadequacy

It’s only in the mirrors that I see ghosts
The image shrouded by shadows

When it started
Surreptitious spirit blending into the background

Spending back word days
Peering into the mirror

Gradually it grew near
My reflection drained as it rose in stature
First it stood with a hand on my shoulder

Like I was
Someone for him to mentor,
to mark

In this instant, I can see it in me
My eyes are bushed and bitter

Eyes I’ve never known
A carnage of my character

A cleaving of my humanity
Check the reflected corners
Giving up
The feeling of smashing a fist through the computer screen
And jumping over the edge

The feeling of inadequacy
Like you’ve ascended thousands of feet
But looking up you realize

You’ve only just started.

Like Whores

I work until I’m blistered
Like stockings on Christmas eve
My esophagus is filled to the brim
With toys and a curiosity
That reminds customers
Of a child

My sentences are no longer coherent
What good is my voice
If I can keep that cock standing
Under the tip of my tongue

But I never have problems
Putting plump fingers
Where they don’t belong
In the body’s
Dark alleyway

Yank up the skirt
Be proud of this boiled bitch
Hopping
On the senator’s
Pogo stick

I know how honorable
anal plugs
and swallowing
a stranger’s
steam
can
be.

The Sermon of Christ

I have something to say
Words to flow from the lips
Like red wine in the gullet
The blood of Christ

I have new lands to conquer
Achievements to conspire
The boldest of moves to make
The manifest destiny
Of poetry

Tearing down the house
And building a new foundation
Raping the earth and God’s creation
In His holy name

The children beaten, maimed
The bull brandished, bruised
Can never be tamed
The indecency inspired by name