June 17, 2010
By Jefferson Adams
A poem to channel my angst toward the bungling of the Gulf situation.
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a tipping point on a balance beam
absolute peace is a pipe dream when you have elites
could have already closed that pipe clean
i am incensed and pumping adrenaline, but
what to do in a situation beyond and obscene
when this time release comes in bursts
of rapid incremental increase
of Hearses and priests,
physical and mental disease,
and uneasy evictions in waves
ending leases . . . nothing is saved
STOP THE LEAK.
PLUG YOUR EFFING GREASE.
my last supper is a feast of enormous giving
shared by the co-signing of twelve
celestial bodies, no commodity oddities
to develop concepts of safe seats
choose your table setting to bellow
your essence from above and below
get active and quit remaining hollow
yellow sun beams on red crude
follow the money it will lead you too
the mellow mood isn't misery
they use fear and frequency wizardry,
have overdrawn our teller machines,
and had our accounts bleached
our sensory tether has snapped,
but there is no reason why
it has to wash up on a rocky beach
glazed in oil, dispersant, and BENZENE.
Authors Bio:
Much like politicians pandering, I am an enigma. Solving only my own puzzle. Maybe?