HARLEQUIN VENTRILOQUIST

by Shaun Lawton 

He cared not for the stars, he did not feel so wise,
there was nowhere for him to go, no matter how many
times he tried, and as a matter of fiction stitched
into our lives, we are sewn together, the teller
and the reader, you see, and that's what draws
you in, the sentences hypnotize your mind
through your eyes, for the duration of the narrative
generated by the source text, the reader begins
to identify with him, our lost protagonist suffering
from sidereal disdain, feeling immobilized on
his pillow at night, and suffocating with routine
during the day, dealing with the intensifying 
awareness that there may be no escape, that
the parameters of our biological continuum may
have been preset for execution, our genetic
message being pronounced along the unfolding
sentences of our generations, that there was
nothing you or we could do to prevent the next
generation's outspoken message, materializing as
word balloons with human outlines, going about
their daily business and routines, mulching the
detritus of our dreams into a palatable nourishment,
our ashes, their fertilizer, but the part that smarts
the most, they cannot see this and are relegated to the
pitiless, regardless of how filled with curiosity
or wonder they've become, nothing less than
being shown themselves directly with time and
experience, until they have reproduced themselves,
that our tongues do not extrude from our own mouths,
so much as they fork through our children's.  

RAGE AGAINST THE DIVIDE

Doing time without rhyme or reason;
surely is a mad season.

Feeling lost at what cost (a hollow one).
If I sound caustic it's cuz we lost it.

Fist in the air in the land of the free
(between you and me reigns a cut and dried society).

Much worse off than simple hypocrisy:
we've got outright lies and shameless blasphemy.

A corrupted system where the rich can kill for free
and the homeless and poor must pay to behave.

That's right, land of the free
(free to be doomed by the likes of We

ourselves who can pull the strings using dollar bills
and flashing rings with our professional smiles

all the while hiding the real nature of this beast—
that we're all killers at least.)

Trained to remain calm at the embalming.
That's how we became character actors.

So now I'll cut myself off from this train of thought,
because I know where it's leading.

And if you think that would make a great candidate— 
well you're probably right—it's a great fuel, hate. 

You think that's not the issue, well it isn't justice either.
In a divided union there can be no believer. 

So remember in November, I dare you to step forth
and make your voice count.

Otherwise you grant power to the other side.
And that is all it takes to seal our fate—

Conscientious cooperation— 
wide awake or quite sedate.