Spectacle
The disclaimer merely set the tone
nothing real mind you
just cover for an original intent
and as the obvious unfolded
the wonder would subside
the viewers lulled into deep sleep
and yet these calculated procedures
are not meant to right a listing ship
nor alleviate a national pain
but what fun for the players
with kudos and best wishes
for a constituency too dulled
to know better or even care
that the true joke is on them
just a leveraging of known dangers
and a viral neurosis
priming the wells
for future extractions.
The Slant Alters The Scheme
Nothing but hands and no grit
behind the lens a spatial vacuum
simple tonic for the darkened gaze
a nod and shimmer scales the walls
it’s all show for the mad watchman
a spine bender among bruises and threats
outrage and apathy what could go wrong
cultural blemishes a minor paradox in the memory strain
not that a little cruise ship glamour wouldn’t ease the itch
there’s soul peddlers for hire if you choose to play
when the clocks run backwards time’s up.
Murderers Row
The intelligentsia were on their heels
it wasn’t right from the get-go
a certain stench to the rhetoric
belief in what doesn’t exist creates ire
surprise is rare in this den
prestige the ugliest of words
raise a fist to the stars
calculate the blame for a future share-fest
another freak show will come to town
so know the spread the bursts of fire
the aces are spent
while alive you survived.
Duty Bound And Hopeless
Strolling in for the kill
machines primed for homicide
a drone’s eye view not deemed material evidence
repetition with ho-hum gaze
news on the racks a disbelief
chalk marks the scene for later neglect
processions in limbo publically assessed
they’ll come on weekends with carnage in mind
actions replicated in craven time
corporate glee with such telling results
future endorsements wait in the wings
high praise from the Sleaze Farm
pin a medal to the forehead see if it bleeds
a little lethal folly in the North Country
not up for debate
just another white-boy winner in the skin game.
Doom Time With Lemon Trees
Unable to deliver the goods
you’ve been outbid
that face scan didn’t register
thin as glass in high places illusory
empty pockets explain this condition
the account’s been wiped
a memory lag in normalization
vested to seal a tenuous future
so pack what’s left and get out of town
it’s a long shot with drawn straws
the game has lost its sparkle
and main street’s under water.
Randy Barnes - Lifetime honoured Historian/Beat Poet Laureate in 2020 by the National Beat Poetry Foundation, New Hartford, CT. Published three slim volumes of poems and numerous outliers in national and international publications. Currently alive and well on a highly gentrified island in the Salish Sea.
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