Lost in the Stars

Serial plaint let me break

out my tiny

violence; Dark Star my

junk heap so quick

gets you disappointed

in 12 parsecs. 

Deleterious chagrined

we are holding out

for a hero or god to boop

the nosebleed

of the old fashioned

spaceman with his

face hugged

by a clingy co-pilot.
In my cereal, big
stars & little stars small
as grains of sand.  Glass
ground so fine that
you get used to
the morning juice boost
burning its way thru
you. People say we were
promised zero gravity but
all I ever expected
were some hydroponic
parsnips grown on Mars
to toss on the salad
I serve in their paupers'
bowls.

Peachum's Morning Song

Peachum's Morning Song

Sing this as anthem

or hymn depending

on which false prophet

holds the morning’s closest  

corner : he who was once

deafened in the left ear

heard on the third day how

the lord would smite him

for what he once did

in the dark as a lost lamb

who had yet to abandon

pleasure for the sake of

extending his beggar’s hand 

to the human resources executive

who might set up bi-weekly direct deposits.

Better to stay blind than to

see these bankers whose

mouths ballet boilerplate

in the light of the diodes.

Worst practices will

deliver you; get off

your knees & grind

them to dust while they choke

on their coins.