The Next Big Thing (An Anthem To Be Sung in the key of Genuine)

poetry

Let’s join the Byrd gang and all go throw rocks through windows. 
Let’s make Friday wait for us. 
You are part knife, part slab of meat. 
The world is a shark.

You know what comes next. 

(don’t) rock the vote

poetry

it’s like
a pirate is
forcing me
to walk one
of two planks:

at the bottom
of the first a
shark waits with
gleaming teeth
the taste of blood
already in its mouth

while a leap off
the other would
entail filling the
entrails of a giant
fucking squid.

(perched upon
such a precarious
position, i pray the
pirate will suddenly die
leaving me free
to sail away.)