The Shuffle

On a large military scale the masses are feeble, weak,
tender, oppressed, misrepresentative, and picky.
I can’t hear your bitching and moaning.

You don’t recognize my constitutional acknowledgements, but I’m particularly hype to a false precinct.

Bleeding eyes are completely etched out with micro-tear reactions
molesting sentiments of the clotting-blue-vein bunch that explode frantically like Fuchsias falling to the dirt.

A summer’s eve.

I heard that there’ll be a Monday-morning-brunch-hunch.
It could take care of the unknown.
It could make the present muffled.

Immense majorities’ voices drown in Bureaucratic desires that
slash the very freedom that blesses this atrocity.

My balls burn and I’m pissed!

Ah, shit. My cable bill is due.
Not enough channels to subdue this post-psychological avenue.
Children’s jubilance sprang and sprung daisies,
orchids, and poison lilies.

I’m out of cigarettes and out of my mind.