Uncomfortable Truths

A racial slur has never
killed a single person,
but one must wonder
how many Third-World people we have all
with our carbon footprint.

Just one word and the Wall Street
crumbles, the kitschy tomahawk falling
from her pale hand.
Meanwhile the false gold idol
remains, leering as he slouches
atop the idolater’s pulpit,
untouchable beneath so much
and pigeon shit.

Tax Write-Off
It is as sad as it is
that only wealthy middle class Whites
can afford the
of White Privilege,
whereas for the working poor
it is just another luxury item
cut from the budget
until good times come again
to broaden their purchasing power
and their
overtaxed sympathies.

Pocket Change
The feminist theory book was
closed upon itself,
thick with sermons against ancient
in a cobwebbed corner of the room
while the pink pocketbook
changed the world
one purchase at a time
to a more
feminine shape.

Autumn Tea

Acorns underfoot, red foliage overhead,
we walk through the woods, to the wilted clover bed
where the Green Man lays, a god no longer green,
and soon to fade beneath that arboreal scene.
From his brow we take a handful of brown leaves
while the birds fall silent among the sylvan eaves.
He rouses, briefly, and offers to us a seed:
it smells of every plant, tree, and even weed.
Returning home, we set the water to boil
and dig a hole in the earth, planting in the soil
the seed that he gave us, a seed of Springtime hope
as we drink our Autumn tea and we try to cope.
The world is one of colors all flaring in hue,
life and death together—a bittersweet brew.


(Dedicated to Wolfen, who deserved better)

There is too much failure in flesh and bone
to mete the measure of a dog’s faith
and so when death leaves me alone
I tread through woods in search of his wraith.

What is that shade following from behind
that I scarce glimpse but in twilit gray?
The best friend I will never again find—
gone, too soon, and missed every day.

It must be true, I believe, that if heaven exists,
all dogs are Assumed into its celestial ranks,
but I also know that in Death’s parting mists
I may well find myself on infernal banks.

Truly, my greatest sin was to a friend
whose sin was to love one unworthy of love
and if I meet him again, at the very end,
his heart will decide if I go below or above.

It is a cruel joke that Man should enchain
as if he does not, himself, need to be fettered;
we think ourselves lords over this fickle plane,
but only by a dog’s love are we bettered.

Let me repeat this, so there is no doubt—
a dog might treat any devilish man so well
as a god in life, but when that man’s life runs out
there is no place for him but in Hell.