John-Ward Leighton

(Pictures at Eleven)

The revenge
of not forgiving oneself
for deeds only imagined
and acted on
in sugared delirium
of drowsy lost lines
for lack of a pen to write
or something to write it on.

Post noon
like a wounded loon
everything is just too soon
and in the confusion
your psyche receives
a blue and yellow contusion
and the randomness of the blow
is not for you to know.

I dreamed this just now
without realizing why or how
because I should be doing other things
and the roar in my ears
has that dreaded hollow ring
of thoughts loud in their lack
of reason or understanding.

by the prejudice
of a cheese sandwich
without tomatoes or lettuce
sticking dry to the roof of my mouth
where most of the light comes from the south
home, home on the range
looking for a rhyme for
a just peeled orange
now that is really strange.

This nonsense poem
defies explanation
like the voodoo economics
of all those capitalist nations
and their bull shit explanations
when it is a plain as the nose on your face
that the reason the world’s economy
is in the ditch
is to assuage and assist
and enhance the greed of the rich.
No work, no pay,
no food, no shelter, you say
perhaps it’s just not your day
and the banks say, he he,
now ain’t that just
a son of a bitch.

And in all the hysteria,
the president hires a man from the Bush regime
who has a lunatic recurring dream
the missing weapons of mass destruction
from Iraq
are lurking in Syria in the outback.
While ignoring the three hundred nuclear bombs
hidden by their pals
in Israel.
What’s that you say
the IDF block heads of the Gaza blockade
have murdered four more today?

And so while BP still fouls the Gulf
and there is a solemn meeting of the board
decides to reward
the share holders
of this criminal organization
with a dividend.
My God
when will this insanity end?