This poem is a mournful riff on the destructive grievance politics of the so-called right. Of course, what is left is left, with love and hope remaining to knit life wince agin.
Tears in My Soul
Where divides multiply
As far as right from left
When unhinged makes cents
What is there to a door?
In the presents of ever-lusting crack
That elusive hole
Just an other
Day at the breach
Darkness too pitch
Avowedly blind to race
Cutting off cares
Trafficking in uncontrollable SOBs
As red to bull
And baloney to mete
Hurting for moral fiber
Emptying them bawls
At any accost
Oblivious to any alleged love of enemas
As disingenuous when it comes
As wolves to lambs
As wailing and blubber
In their revolting state
Aborting traitors
As if
Living from bred alone
Half aloof from won an other
Lone woofs
And accompanying blues rifts
Waiting for that looming breakdown
With a big “sew what?”
Purported men
Of auction
Worshipping the buy and buy
Comforted by the hear after
Of bidder tears
Having dropped a bundle
Of joy
And what is left?
Nothing in their mine
Aggrieved
And in titled only
Barely conscience
Of what put US under
A klan that desperately needs
To be surrounded by their mothers
More profoundly than any boo who
Milks it for awe it is worth
In the recesses of one’s heart
Wear the wrest is history
And in the mourning
Know right left
Awe the ardor
Shredding tears
In my soul
Easier sad
Then done
Know madder what might right
On the wall
Obliged to live
With what is left
