Big [poetry]

You’re so big—
the internet made you huge

We decipher your candy whining at your blog every day—
we’re some of your best teased hairfriends at your facebook

We know your TV faves
movie faves
favorite faves
and all your playlists

You like short shorts, bikini jeans, and certain days wrapped in Jamawar

You love Mickey D’s sweet tea
smoking weed
teen romances
mean mosh dances, crushes, slushes, fireworks, and ferris wheels

We love that you’re an internet cannibal
snapping off selfies in front of your cathedral mirrors
singing how you’re so famous and how we’re so far far far up your anus—
and we are
because you’re so big … so huge … so tremendous
and delicious
we eat you up 24/7—

We love that you love sleeping in after late nights and breakdowns
and that you wear Lola & Coco by La Senza and go on long car rides in 3D…
or something like that!

The internet made your Ts-&-A tremendously huge
so if you break yo boo-tay
your posse is big enough to put it all together
so you can do it again tomorrow for your paparazzi
and us

War and Rain [poetry]

War and rain are long;
our patience is gone and burns much faster in the zone.

War and rain are long;
our broken bones and lullabies char the path to your home
where your war torn love bears a daily weight for years alone.

War and rain are mean;
their dirty green and red are always messing with your head

War and rain are mean;
a life unclean and too much pot put a hole in your head—
now your pothole brain is the next best thing to being dead.

You say it’s just a state of mind
and the weather there is fine.
But you can’t hear me call your name
above the drone of bomber planes.

War and rain are his:
an awful dizzy man with piles of money in his plans.

War and rain are his;
your life with him and too much weight put a hitch in your stance—
now your lovesick soul waltzes by in a broken dance.

You say it’s just a state of mind
and the weather there is fine.
But you can’t hear me call your name
above the drone of bomber planes.

No one hears me above the war and rain that fall…
on us all.

Rightful Heirs [poetry]

Man’s abstraction is his mad reality—
His crazy reality is our despair

His ruin-prone proud national heritage
befalls us for a wretched dream

Ancient fires fuel his greed made savage by marketeers

A proprietor evicts a family struggling to make ends meet
No compassion
He says he needs his money to pay his bills—
but his bloated bank account kisses his fat rolls
The biggest dollar is his queen—
see how fast he drops to lick her toes

He robs the land from the true inheritors—
rapes human lives for cash
He would sell the fleas and clothes off their backs
to profit from his attack
His abstractions are his mad reality—
His methods are our despair

The homeless seek shelter in the streets
until the lawman locks them up
in care of tax dollars hard at work

Ancient fires fuel the greed made savage by marketeers