Last night's open mic was our own personal parade, a chance to voice whatever we wanted to as if we were given the mic at the upcoming victory parade. It was a small but nice rally, and I did my best to join in, even if after the fact. Yes, there's Trump in here, but I think I got it out of my system.
Extreme Setting
Kicking sand in our face
produces no pearls
to pry from our mouths.
The animals inside us
are ordered put to sleep
before they're unleashed in the streets
In an orderly fashion.
Now when Saul falls
he just becomes more vengeful.
Solitude is only his solace
if he knows someone outside
is dying to meet him.
Our anointed dragon slayer
can neither identify a dragon
nor discern a drake burnt village
from a failed mill town.
Life is a whiffle ball game
with broken windows,
a beachfront's water drained of salt,
a wildlife video with applause
whenever males mount mates.
False witness wanted:
must have neighbors.
Sole attempt at zen: he looks
at a chair and Amy's "It's mine."
Out of time at night, he waits
to be sung to slee.p.
where are the singers outside?
Later he dreams of killer clowns
dressed as judges presiding over
and dismissing Pizaa Gate,
slendermen predecessors
pushing impeachment.
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| Not sure why Kirk put himself twice. Coincidentally(?), he came up again to perform with Mike. |
Special thanks to Kirk Etherton, David Miller, Deb Priestly, Chris Fitzgerald, Melissa Salvi, Julia Carlson, Martha Boss, Rich Kingzley, Mike Koran and James Van Looy.
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