Poetry: Frustrations

Helpless shitting, that’s what we call it

when you spew your poison, out into the air

with its fascist leanings, but you can’t help yourself

can you, malcontent squabble

that will be your disintegration.


Narcissistic poisons elegantly costume kings, evil as they are

already, flamboyant extravagances dance

chained by the neck together, torturing a cripple

like me, convinced of a sleepover

simple Simon sad son, bating hate.


The way it is, this is as awful as ever

and ever on it seems, I can barely remember

yesterday anymore, but before I know it

things will be normalized, but I wonder

if sky will remain, blue like fresh clean water

Poetry: Frustrations

Poem: The Third Debate

In my throat, ashes and bile

watching this shit on the networks

internet forums and Facebook, I assume

exiting this cycle will feel as fire

from within, a chemical burn

seeming like our own fault, we all earned and asked for

this partisan shitstorm, bullshit spilling

communally into a great bowl.

Poem: The Third Debate