her church was music
and her gods dead rock stars
who she joined on an eternal tour
around the furthest reaches
of space and time,
her church was music
and her gods dead rock stars
who she joined on an eternal tour
around the furthest reaches
of space and time,
I lied to my fourth therapist,
telling her all of my bogus
achievements while she jotted
them down on a pad in her lap,
hoping that she couldn't smell
the Schnapps on my breath
4x4ever everything I expected 2.5 bedroom gun rack smokestack tread for dread of poor handling known known unknowable star-spangled suspension of disbelief
people care
more about video games
on their cell phones
than cultivating empathy
The documentaries say the rich figured out
that too much democracy and education
just feeds discontent and revolution,
so keep the masses poor and stupid.
I keep watching my America morph
into someone I don’t know, My America
is all cicada songs in sweltering summer heat, trees
as far as I can see, covered in
potential,
and the old hatreds
have risen up from under their rocks
where they’ve been hiding
taking a new form
they ooze like stale bile
flowing out of sewers