Life n’ Death: Conjoined Identical Twins

Presumed Infantile

 

Silent space is far away

as memories of music.

Machines that beep

while fridges hum,

computers fart themselves awake.

Too bad no one can

remember when

they were a baby.

How grand things must have

seemed, how charged

with intensity, a world

of wonders circumscribed

by immensity.  Instead,

we’re left with leftovers–

recycled observations–

a nest bereft of birds,

a life of limitations.

But infancy awaits those souls

who have the sense to live long;

maybe they will understand

anew what babies do,

will know again

what they once knew

in those distant

and disturbing days

when they tried to crawl away

from their cradle full of poo.

 

Here’s to the Winners

 

The cream of crime feeds billionaires

who bask in boats of bone

that float like clouds

on seas of blood protected by the gods

above and masochistic Madame

Earth.  The cocky killers, coffin-

fillers, chuckle as they crack

their knuckles.  They swing their 

clubs and send their balls aloft

to plink with a wink in the drink.

The wine of bleeding Christ drowns

fish so old they wagged their tails

when Adam was a tadpole

before his dad was wise enough

to make the female Eve.

That mean male god was such

a fraud:  behold his ugly legacy.

Homo sapiens’ rapier has

slashed the earth to bits.

If you listen to your conscience,

it might give you the shits

or make you call it quits–

but we’re the ones who made this mess

and we can clean it up.

 

Before I offer you a job,

please pee into this cup.

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