Postmodernistic Loss is Cryptic Cost In Word Economy.
No one seems to know our dreams are so much like the Other others’
as we’re escaping that smothering grip of our big brothers, see…
We gotta trust each other first.
If not expect the worst
But respect the burst.
inspect the Hearst/Pulitzer wars
to see just how, still now
we’re being lemming-led.
Like condemning dead
of Cromwell/Putney days
a soldier lays beneath republic thumb
He gets no voice
These things reserve for interests,
permanent and fixed,
betwixt the appetitive casualties of what they call
Anyway, so says my alma mater.
But it’s no more than fucking slaughter.
how postmodernistic loss
is cryptic cost in word economy-.
All to make things simple:
pop the pimple of the West.
In seeming jest
we do our best
to free the
While always fighting leaning too. Far. Right.
A’cuz the Atlantic’s in the center of our school book maps.
But we’ll get it soon enough. Perhaps.
So, if West is Right,
Then East is Left?
I’d like to think the globe bereft of spectrum points
But still the Sun anoints our lives with light
Penetration. By GE and Disney
in TV and nuclear phallus invested.
Penetration. Currencies infested.
Which brings us to our smart cards
Leaving bureaucrats a’drooling
for pooling our secrets all enlisted.
It’s fucking twisted.
We have a public-pitting-private civil war,
a war like none before,
a war for list control.
We have legions marching cyberspace
to clinch a base of names-
from what’s written were developed on the Thames.
It’s all about imperialism, baby.
“’Twas always thus, and always thus will be.”
We have moral tweaking,
freaking girls and boys with army toys.
Off duty, then,
the army men
harass the chicks on Main
with crotchrocket games of billiards
in their pockets.
But they oughta know better than to ban the symphonies,
or to cut down freedom’s trees with their saws of false Hope.
They don’t know what they’re doing, those men of single Man.
They shoot their guns up in the air forgetting bullets land.
They say “we’re the better ones
who take our guns
with skill and meet our healthy mark!”
But they’re really dumb,
they take their guns and shoot them in the dark,
not caring who they kill-or-fire-lock-up-abandon-tread-below-their-penny-loafer-souls.
Well, I’m a man.
I don’t need a gun.
I’ll aim my rhyme at them
Pete Litster, father and long-time peace-justice activist, moved to Olympia from Salt Lake City in Oct 2012. He’s grateful for the air, water, beautiful land and the passionate living community of Cascadia.