Chlorophyll

broken splattered sound the dearth
freedoms yours for less than worth
its all for you if you’re the norm
and correctly don the uniform
play the game be the roll
let the man feed your soul
wink the eye give the sign
those caught without on those you dine
play your cards close to chest
hush your heart behind your breast
taste not touch, think less than these,
compassions dust might give you fleas
ok we’ll just tax the plant
what’s that now the feds will rant
if youthful brains can freely score
who will it be that fights our wars
And keeps illusion bright and white
and condo skies full of kites
What sector next the last breath wheeze
to purchase mediocrity

The Main Peir

Seagulls still turn and pick at foam, mist from griffin wings prism the orange sunshine, this day Roman some odd may hold a moon, but none of Laguna Gold.
The denizens in this poem are fading but will never grow old. May I be the hero please? None can know. Status pressure world's cursed squeese stiffles good reason.
Forever frindships die, foolishly we count them lightly.
A pile of broken Barbies cry and Kens waiting for the new prom that will save us all yet never arrives.
So quorgal and Yarp and wiggle with glee one never knows the wiggles left to thee.

On ice

The Inuit mom with an Inuit knife
preparing a fish that has been her tribes life.
Little she knows as she nurses her son,
industrial waste makes her bosom a gun.

Deep in the Congo where Rambo wouldn’t go,

your not seen if your careful and kill them nice and slow

Even the space monks don’t see and never tell,

of mothers trodden heart or her children’s bloody hell.

Ocean blue table so round and complete,

makes us feel better when each nation takes a seat.

Electric harvest basket nerve center of the hive

down the brutal shadow path the message doesn’t thrive.

Your articles and protocol though meant for fairer start,

can nary heal the wound where stomach rubs the heart.

The Convention on Prevention did not turn the tide,

as the human heart strives onward to it’s own full genocide.

Looking for the pay day... Got popped... Play ground scoundrels romped...Dread bled fled...Lamp fever bed...Cartoons afternoon boon to consciousness...Next day dawns... heart rubs abrasive against the morning light...Pea gravel in tennis shoe gray ghosts...Forgetful breakfast...Every shadow a gallows...I’m smaller, smaller, smaller, invisible;For life.

Tick,Talk

Hornets find a nitch,

children thinking Witch.

Rodents burrow deep,

wooly wiggles creep.

Popcorn spiders pop,

Teachers dish their slop.

For splashing sun is not,

for deer the gun is hot.

Veggies light the porch,

goblins with a torch.

Complacent turkeys roost,

of cookery minds obtuse.

Yet Somewhere!

Tikies view the shore,

surf pounds nothing more

Sept.19,2008

by Corvidillis