by William Skink

I have two poems to share today. The first establishes me as America’s 21st century Walt Whitman. Do I know how egomaniacal that sounds? Of course, but it’s a kick ass poem that makes the reader do a little work while aping Whitman’s style, sort of.

The second poem is a rough approximation of the weirdness I mentioned in yesterday’s post. In scanning the news this morning it’s still difficult to determine what the hell is actually going on. Stay sane out there!

M WORD
for M.E.

sailor O sailor
the seas that you sail
the vast, blue expanse
the breezes and gales

that moves your big ship
on the tides of the moon
is blowing astray
there’s risk you’ll maroon

sailor O sailor O
what will you do?
the mast has a fracture
the morale of the crew

has never been lower
and several may jump
refusing to eat
the shit sandwich lunch

you call a buffet
but we know the deal
you serve us the shit
while munching on veal

sailor O sailor
your fake Capt’s hat
is falling apart
your ruse is a trap

you set for yourself
when ego took hold
the story of the Captain
will one day be told

for now be assured
some minds are still free
sailor O sailor
our rhyme you’ll soon see

BOIS

boogaloo and Pepe to
chaos playoffs, who are you?

tactical Matt his white skin hat
glass break spark
what you think ‘bout that?

Hawaiian stylin’
igloo proud
white hat Matt: can you hear me now?

chaos magick, new thought belief
black bloc comes
kicks out his teeth

they will not let them
honest rage

George Pink Floyd
make my day