Archive for April, 2017

The bosses like to get high,

really high,

as high as they can

on the skyscraper their contractors are building


and surveil their kingdom below.

High. And low. Puppet masters, exploiters, manipulators, purveyors of misery.

In a city, near you and me.

Up high the bosses are removed from the “filth” below,

the hookers, the scammers and dope dealers they control,

the scum they use as footsoldiers,

the low-lifes they’ve gotten rich off.

Up high, the bosses stay detached and clean.

They shake hands, and nod smugly.

Deal’s made.

The bosses go home, to their mansions,

respectable, Catholic, family men,

they kiss their wives

and each five children.

Tonight, satisfied, sweet sleep.

Deal’s made, sealed.

… And outside the wind blows,

devil’s breath whispers …

tomorrow death for all.




He asked me if I remembered the halcyon days of childhood,

where things were hard but simple.

Joy and knowledge gained through such pursuits as learning the Paschal Greeting in as many different languages as possible.

Writing it down,

it took time,

and effort,

a job well worth while,

True Spiritual outreach…

mostly now forgotten.

“Do you remember?” he asked, once again.

“Yes,” I replied.

Christ is risen!

Indeed, He is risen!




Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum,

went fishing,


zero sum.

Sikorskys overhead,

deer flea.


Everything is atomic warfare.




“Okay, so our people broke into the ARPANET and, long story short, we now know that Ronald Reagan watched Moscow Does Not Believe In Tears several times so as to ‘better understand the Russian soul’.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Question is, did Reagan cry?”




Privet, Pripyat.

Tainted Earth,

long before ’86

Adam and Eva fell

(vice versus versa,

we’re in this together).


we all fall,

human beings disgrace,

yesterday, today, infinity,


no hope,

but perchance







Alone in my cell,

somewhere beyond, I heard voices, male.

Guards? Inmates? Hard to tell.

(Indeed, society, prism of a prison!)


One shouted: “Russian scum!”

The other countered, indignantly verbose: “Baltic dolt! Don’t you realize how privileged you are to be part of our family, our project? There are people in Namibia, Bolivia, Australia, oppressed people, who would kill to be Soviets! You are nash. You are fortunate.”




They Push Me So Far… They Drive Me To The Edge, And Over…

Self-inflicted wounds,

they ruled.

Their decision on me,


before and after the fact.




He told me it was Easter and showed me his work,

grinning, expecting praise.

Repulsed, I exclaimed: “It’s disgusting!”

He slapped my face,

blood and spit, sharp taste.

Intelligent discussion,

aspects of humor,

expressions of engagement,


(we are thinking animals, God blessed with cognisance and free will).

Blasphemy, however, deliberate offence…

line drawn.

Only God truly forgives

and you denigrate the Perfect Sacrifice at your peril.




That news that horrifies,

That history that terrifies,

The impact is all in the telling,

Details emphasized,

We all bias,

Our fears amplify.




Moses was still Moses

while in Egypt,

and David was definitely David

leering at Bathsheba.

I, however, am not myself

when summoned to the metaphorical,

apparently eternal,

principal’s office.

… Over a barrel.