#metoo

it was a time, maybe
this time, or these
times, like all the time,
during the reign of
bullets and bomb
shells of truth, the motive
madness of the sick man
in his mistaken sense
of manhood laid bare, literally,
and stroking his privilege
thought process that infects the world.
where we are now,
the tip of the unsilenced
tongue, the barrel of a gun, spraying
six hundred thoughts and prayers
a minute, rounds
we've been through before.
god ain't there to listen. meanwhile
our torn down women speak out
or remain in silent shame, yet
this disbelief, this
incredulity, the blameshifting
of the mansplaining intellectual elite.
pleading the fifth over second
amendment discourse, a coursing
river of blood, streams of shame.

our weapons are phallic
our thoughts fallacious
our actions fatal

a culture of blindness, our thought
scapes under siege by a weaponized
rape culture, the boys
will be boys club, shooting
and fucking everyone, expecting,
entitled to a kiss and a chance
to cop a feel. it's your world, dog.
give 'er what she wants. after all,
she dressed for the occasion.
certainly not for her day in court,
a chance to answer for the violation
of common human decency.

a civilization tired, worn down by
these lost generations of boys, whose
very power structure thought structure
world view is under threat, the
religious zeal of ownership, of
being the bar creep, the sanctimonious
clergyman, the protected
frat boy, the perv in the elevator,
champion wife beater, the philandering
boss, untouchable celebrity, power
drunk politician, trusted friend
gone wrong, the gun crazed patriot,
the deluded martyr--
all of these man up men, being called out
for these shit stains on humanity.
and rightly so.
such times, these, tides
swelling through a tortured history,
dying for change. and the speaking.
out now. something we all knew, except
the puerile language we constructed
to shroud the horror. now this, the
avalanche of reckoning.
so.

listen. 

new news newzzzzzzzz

a sickness, as now, pestilent 
this discourse of limited intellect,
a fucking madness 
gripped to our bones, ripped
into flesh as muzzles flash
thots and pray'rs scattershot, falling 
short of any god willing
to listen with deaf ears ringing with gunfire.
knees taken in prayer protest (needs
need meeting). and bodies lie bleeding
like national sport, a game
for flag waving obfuscation. twitter
is a 140 character hurricane
blowing your lazy ass to kingdom
come; get your entitlement right
here in line to be sacrificed
upon the second commandment amendment (first,
bear arms, then hit send). maybe
it's the guns that are going crazy,
not the sadly estranged man
incapable of terror. he certainly
didn't learn about mass murder
reading bibles. perhaps we should 
pray more, more.

a scar spangled banner, under siege
by racially divisive knees. the world's
most powerful military, bitch slapped
by peaceful protest. utter disrespect.
meanwhile, the discarded soldier sleeps
on the street, forgotten, absent
from the recruiter's pamphlet, in no way
disrespected by the punters. help
is a four letter word, just like amen,
or dead, or lost, or, you know, like
FUCK
!!!

democracy, dressed in riot gear, like
spain, like venezuela, like
the nfl. these death pangs
of old, rich, white motherfuckers, the ones
who eat the whole fucking world
and stick you with the bill; the strange
wind blowing their old world view
away, a freak hurricane, godless, gay,
multicultural, just had an abortion, voted,
and is definitely unarmed. 
science and rationalism are fake news, so
the climate must change around all that, so
to speak. we live in a cold fact universe, here,
on the verge of totally fucked. thankfully,
it's fake news too. hillary's emails indeed did
not contain any evidence of hugh hefner's
redeeming qualities, but did contain one
large elephant, dead from its summer
of record heat drought rainfall fire flood, in the
boardroom, a bunch of those aforementioned
motherfuckers holding the second amendment
in their smoking gun hand, wiping up 
the blood with a shit stained copy
of the paris climate accord. (actually,
the smart ones in the audience will know
it was really gay marriage that killed him.
god's wrath and all that)

welcome to the end of the world show, there 
will be a fireworks display in pyongyang and
live tweets from whitey's house,
1600 pennsylvania ave. muslims may not
travel to the after party, mexicans can
wait outside, angry blacks can 
choose a different time and place 
when it's convenient for the rest of us,
and the rest of you just man up and
grab 'em by the pussy. it's what men do.
like all the killing, the murdering, the raping,
the silencing, the shaming. like a fucking
science, man. detailed.

perhaps, then, conversation, as in from latin:
"act of living with." such constraints
we learn, to become unthinking,
even as language is a depth of expansion;
to become unfeeling, unsympathetic,
even as our blood is all common
to each other. we have yet to see
the worst of ourselves. we have yet
to see the best either.