a peddler of fakery -- no explanation required


a peddler of fakery

a peddler of fakery a cockwamble
once attempted to govern
to goad ideas and policy

into the pit of his outhouse
felt strong like a bully
a foreign boss’s capo

and roughhewn wooden puppet
then he very quickly consumed himself
and he liked the taste of himself

licked his dumb lips
and was gone
nothing left but a foul odor

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

"so much things to say" - just finished this - took me about ten minutes to write - I wanted to break away from the highly structured dense weight of my last poem and write something loose and free, and a bit ironic - the first two and a half lines come from the wonderful Bob Marley song, "So Much Things To Say"

Image
So much things to say So much things to say right now I got so much things to say on social media and in my prayers, but you know speaking into infinity brings infinity into your words so here I go again trying to do that trick in verse in this what you would call meta- poetics but man do I sound full of shit loose like a spinning machine gun without a gunner spewing words like they were undigested pieces of pizza pepperoni mushrooms and ground beef spattered across this page in what looks like a poem oh right yeah that is what this is supposed to be a brain-tickler but I can’t stop at that line above because it’s just too clever and doesn’t stand for anything.                                                                             ...
Read more

"no place" -- my first blog post in more than a year, drawn from an experience almost exactly four years ago

Image
near Puerto de Ibañeta (Roncesvalles Pass)  in the Spanish Pyrenees no place  and the road  wound slowly  and steadily  up  a grueling grade  no variance  no up and down  just up  through curve and  straight up  and curve again and  straight up again  and again and again to the high snowbound  pass  invisible in fog and early December twilight  and along the shoulders the snow pushed there  by the steel blades of the snow plows  were made into mountains and valleys  of a smaller landscape of their own until there was no place to step off the cold wet black near-frozen pavement unyielding in its hard brutal asphalt  to pounding heavily weighted foot step  no place to step off except into deep snow  no place to rest the pain in feet and back and joint no place to sit quiet and still in the silence of frozen air  no place to take a piss        ...
Read more