You shit in the hand that feeds you You spit in the faces of brothers and sisters who shared your fate You dine on your own hypocrisy and you are well fed I know you, I know your kind, the hero of your own story, I see you, I see you wash over mistakes with bloody hands your bloody tongue paints the picture of the man not the monster, never the monster.
Andrew Talbot

A Helping Of Dylan

Long time since 1977 but this morn I walked into Hotel California inhabiting my local cafe where the coffee’s alright but the music can be all wrong. Luckily, resident barista, Hannah, is a woman one can reason with, despite her taste in classic hits. Knows how I like my coffee, knows when to change a playlist, which is why this moulting pigeon defaults to such an unpretentious, uncute but underrated cafe. Knowing what pain this regular can be, she exchanged flightless Eagles for Dylan and – free of those rifts – the fog lifts. First song is pure, pre-hippie folk and although it provides no answers at least you are comforted that those questions never did have any. There’s a newspaper that tells you nothing new, nothing that changes your vague plan but with decent coffee, Bob and a merciful waitress you can take off your hat, maybe order toast and accept that you may as well settle because this is the only place you were ever heading.
Allan Lake

Looking for a Missing Tendril

Twenty years ago, he saw him on a regular basis,
sometimes they'd run into each other,
out in the street or at the local store,
damn near every week at the open reading
tall and muscular, bald, white dude, black t-shirt, intense,
big close lipped smile
open to new ideas, but he was
definitely keyed into his own clear perspectives,

suddenly he wasn’t there; no words, no message,
nothing even passed along
last wednesday
the feeling comes in,
during these apocalyptic-pandemic days
‘who is missing in the tribal circle,’
who has lost touch

a connection exists, in his life, roots spread wide then age
they break, become brittle and break off
when the species is in jeopardy

new life blood flows out to recheck, re engage,
make sure the connections have life

so where he was, is important, if he is important, so the gnawing intuition
each time the street is passed, makes sense

tracing back the to the last time, there was no conflict, no great plan, no Canada run,
right turn made…

See he's Hitler After All

the Christians and Republicans all pray and pray for the second coming of Christ to occur; and what they received? the second coming of der fuhrer, old Adolf himself – vacation cancelled, civil liberties rescinded, that’s ICE knocking at your door, that’s DOJ & FBI & DOH knocking at your door – he wants to lift the travel ban, get back to work, fix the economy, make Amerika great again, kill us all in the process - and once we are all dead, the ones at the bottom, the ones with the minimum wage, slaves to consumerism, slave to mortgages and rent and the spend, spend, spend; only the rich will remain, but who will serve them? who will be down on their knees, face deep in rancid asses? we are beaten and poor, tattered, torn and wasted away, stimulus for the rich; the end of the blade for the working class - I wonder: when will we ball our fists? when will we raise our voice? when will we wake up?

Sibiu In Three Parts

I. dust a blanket of dirt covers old streets that bleed with the memories of the downtrodden the smell of petrol resting itself in the arms of the city like a lover refusing to bury her dead II. the intoxication of old world beauty mingles with the eroticism of the feminine form chiseled into marble statues brought to life and wondering into your senses like a drug slowly robbing you of your will each day a new heartbreak fragments your sanity until you become one with the cobblestone walkways broken into a million pieces III. The body of a dead cat sleeps at the foot of a car suffering from the cancer of rust and decades of hard driving progress has been trapped in a house of discord the path forward angled in new directions reality charmed by the mantra of a gypsy praying to a picture of the virgin Mary laid at her feet

Daydreamin' Of Freedom

I like to wash my truck  in the middle of the pouring rain  I take books to gun fights  I hate seeing unarmed people engaged in a battle of wits Life is hard so I only eat soft tacos now  Let’s be honest  none of us want the economy  to ever be so good  that all the graffiti artists become extinct  America,  how in the fuck did we elect W. over John Kerry back in ‘04? Am I the only one that ever looks around  and wonders where all of  the guerrilla poets have gone?  America, why do we allow our country to arrest people for giving out water? When did human compassion become illegal?  America, we gotta stop comparing Presidents to the second coming of Christ  Sometimes when I daydream about  what true freedom must feel like  I wind up drowning in sadness,  because most of us will never know  Has the American Dream ever been about happiness? or has it always been about complacency?  America, how can we still believe  that hard work will bring success? John Henry was


I can't stop touching my face. I can't stop peeling dry skin off my lips. I can't stop peeling flesh off my body, tossing different pieces of me into a body bagged casket. My thoughts have been replaced with frantic video games in which every other person dies. Will this video game suck the life out of you and you and you and me? How will I make my way through this and score enough points before the final scene, in which deadly clich├ęs fill each screen? I mean, every time I try to fall asleep, he starts chasing me again. He screams, "Wake up and choke on this!" Walking to pick up my seizure pills. A car drives by, spits poison from the window. Either I explode or I keep on walking and pretend I'm still alive as I turn into a coughing zombie, then pass the virus on to the next character. Hacking so hard stumbling legs break down into broken limbs. Trees fall into sewers disguised as giant swimming pools in which every other body hides inside a red bathing suit. This character…