Church & State

The self-employed prophets talk about god

like they know what he orders at the dive bar corner table

if he prefers a fizzy highball or straight kentucky burn

and the dictators pretend they can hear god’s jokes

and slap their knees with demagogic laughs

and these regalia antiquarians and uniform medal collectors

prance ahead of the marching nationalism parade promising

salvation for anyone who suffers for the state

and incredible afterlife wages in an unconvincing mint

but for now here’s a sack of flour and bag of beans per family

and pamphlets on the moral satisfaction of tightened belts

and an armband you’ll be punished for leaving at home.

25 November 2016

the election made me a crooner.

I have nothing to say specifically

it would take much too long to explain

everything that has gone wrong and unidealistic

the necessary taxi ride would be prohibitively expensive

so crooning is all I got

and I sing from my throat the garbled karaoke tunes

one bar to the next deep into the night

for small drunken audiences whose loners keep stopping me

to tell me to keep singing

loudly in my ear too close with their drunken breath

they say it makes them feel a little better.

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Also check out my poetry book Cabaret No Stare, available in print and on Kindle.