Politics
The powers that be
are skipping rope on my dead lawn
are high on a Sunday.
Hold the Kool Aid.
Hold your nose.
Now drink deep.
Politics
The powers that be
are skipping rope on my dead lawn
are high on a Sunday.
Hold the Kool Aid.
Hold your nose.
Now drink deep.
Ribbons of dreams are wrapped around my wrists.
pressure so sweet.
The saccharine weight of responsibility
straddles my chest.
Don’t free me from my desires
to feed me to my needs.







