taped over my mouth.
Three years ago they called me sentimental,
then punk thereafter,
now i’m accused of being transgressive…
You know what i am?
A poet in love
whilst simultaneously horrified
with the times in which I live.
What are we?
Stunned. That’s what the hell we are.
The world as we know it, post 9/11.
The evening news is pornography.
Journalism is an old whore
leaning against a statue
of Edward R. Murrow.
How could any thinking, feeling human
with a modicum of awareness
not feel a bit disgusted or depressed?
We must be the agents of our own happiness,
twas always thus.
The older I get, the less tolerance I have for horse shit.
I’m simply documenting the beauty observed along the ride,
and that I mostly want to kick
human civilization’s lingering ass.