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GROWNUP FRUSTRATION

 

STAT OFLIB LIGHTENING

There’s frustration in behaving like a grown-up

It’s knowing that the lie told against you this morning

Has spanned the continent twice by the

Time you awake

         But you carry on as if it hasn’t

There’s frustration in being the grown up

When grown men fight the way they do

In suits armored with dollar signs

        But you carry on as if they don’t

There’s frustration in behaving grown up

When the agony of the human condition

Is reduced to excuses

And blame

        And you carry on as if it isn’t

There’s frustration in being grown up

When the door to respond-in-kind

 Is locked just by decency

        Yet you pull on it anyway –  as if it isn’t

There’s frustration in being grown-up

Where relief is found in dreams

Ungovernable desires

For the “blood-dimmed tide”

To drown the babble

AND the rabble

        But you desire it anyway

There’s frustration in being grown-up

In knowing the constancy of  war

Is but subliminal chaos disguised as

A throw of the dice

From congressional pits

        And we carry on anyway

         we adults –

        As if it isn’t

Dragging care-worn, frustrated hearts

Across mountains of tyranny

Through valleys of decorum

We’ll wrest the locks from ballot boxes

        And slay the lie

        Leaving no weapons

        To defend it

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FANFARE FOR THE COMMON MAN

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You,

who have taken God from her forest

taken her and clothed

her in items of your choosing

Jewels and houses she would eschew.

Put a gun in her hand put her sons

in foreign lands – all

In the name of her father.

You, who have twisted her words

to create the leviathan called

modern culture.

You, who walk the street undercover of pinstripes and attaché and

a business card for proof, and privilege.

You, who cannot judge the passing smell oozing

(a fragrance?) from the carcass of your dying civilization

Yet you judge.

 Fear.

Please do.

 For someone has sallied the rope

Spanning  the crevasse between man and the super man.

Someone knows that side of the swampy abyss and

It’s folly:

You, making it yours with every sweep of arm and voice.

You, who  strive to be occupied with life’s banquet

As you jockey for position and invent

for convenience

determining closeness to your God.

Surprise! When the female of the species,

(Fear this)

with her patterned wings, rises from the swamp and

with nothing more than her sense organs

 drives you back to the craggy edges of your success.

It is she (not you) who will enact the inevitable:

extinction through natural selection.

She worries not.

Moving from host to host she will

ensure that you and your super-kindred,

in attending this banquet,

will surely

sit and starve.