Here they come, Sir.
Get out the talking heads
They need to get paid while they can
You owe them that.
They will lie on behalf of a cause,
Claim misconduct, a Salem-styled barbarism,
Buy You know it’s true,
You know the art of it all,
You deal in a different swamp,
Than the one you said you’d drain.


You’re ruining lives
Treating people as if the are commodities
Letting them exist as the Duke brothers saw Reggie,
Someone to be manipulated as they saw fit,
Only they were fictional betting just one dollar
While you eff with people’s health care
And look to change tax laws for you and the other rich cronies.


Today the elevator got a little closer.
It’s on the way to your guided penthouse
And what may very well be
A Ponzi like financial statement.
The accounting for who you have been is coming,
All I am left to say is, “Oh my.”

“Poetic facts lay their claims on us.” Jason Silva

She will find her way
Chilling the vitriol of race and propaganda
She will bring those scales
Weighing the cost of your freedom against your lack of worth.
She will choose appropriate sentences
Assigning your existence to the place where your hate can do the least harm.

She will get battered for doing that
Taking the political tongue lashing with a moral high ground.
She will look to us for support
Imploring us to know that we value the rule of law over fear-based opposition.
She will win,
Hatred will lose.

“Poetic facts lay their claims on us.” Jason Silva


She’s not supposed to see most of that.
Her eyes blindfolded to steer clear of the worst of us
So she can bring the beauty of justice
To groups who cannot bear the responsibility
Of love and reverence for all people.

Today, though, she is hamstrung
By a tide of hatred that seems unchecked by
Those who ran on her virtues and others who are
Bastardizing her ideals for their immoral wants,
A desire for purity that is more poisonous than the melting pot they shame.

When will Lady Justice have her way?
When will she be unshackled to do her job
Against all evil and not just that identified by the powerful few?
When will this hatred for one another pass away?


The kids were struggling,
Late 60s in the Bronx was rough.
Poverty, turf wars, a failing city, heroin,
Each something to steal youth from the young, so the kids
Stole, they rumbled, they vandalized, they shot up, and
Then they got caught.

The system called them malcontents,
Foresaw their futures as career criminals,
And using the force of the justice system
Called on these young men who lived in one failed system
To choose between two failing options
Provided by a system theoretically based on fairness.

Before the bench,
With officers of the court
Sworn to the protection of all within the confines of the law,
These young me were given the choice;
Jail or Vietnam.
Was there a rationale in this rehabilitation
Or was this just a flip of the correctional coin?

Should they have put them out there to kill,
So what if they get killed in the process, right?
Perhaps they should have been put in programs
That gave them the skills to survive the Bronx in those hardest of times.
Maybe the powerful sect in the five boroughs should have been better to their people.
Maybe America should have dropped dollars on opportunities at home,
Instead of bombs on the homes of Southeast Asia.

Just saying…

{Courtesy of the NYT: 6/7/16}

The forecast for Artis foretold time
Little did he know it was his lawyer in the news
The world thought of him in crime
As he shuffled about in prison shoes
He didn’t make a livin’ pimpin’ pimps
But the negativity was everywhere
Each day he was only able to catch a glimpse
Because his imprisonment was justly unfair
The judge didn’t buy his lawyer’s plan
Sticking with his original ruling
But Artis never thought his innocence as less than
While knowing the appeals would be grueling

Years would pass before he was out
The forecast knew what the law was about

Photo Credit: See Below

Six true sighted witnesses
Suddenly became blind
To the violence of the underworld bosses
Who were standing trial
For killing other crooks
And cooking trash collection books.

Six true sighted witnesses
With sworn affidavits
Impeaching the perpetrators of mayhem
Forgot what they had seen
Saying that they must have been mistaken
With a voice obviously shaken.

Six true sighted witnesses
Saw all too clearly
The consequences of their fate
Were they not able to forget
Everything they had seen
So life continued as it had been.


“Interior of Albury Court House” by Photographic Collection – Flickr: Interior of Albury Court House. Licensed under CC BY 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons –

Just watched me some PBS
About protests and war in 1970.
Vietnam was dividing the country,
Students were seeking to end the war,
And the government was hell bent
On squashing dissent.

Then shots found their mark.
Kent State, Jackson State, Cambodia

The leaders of protest
Rallied their faithful with emotion
Holding out that passion would carry the day
The leaders of government
Rallied their faithful with guile
Throwing out the flag to squash what did not serve them

Now I’m watching me some CNN.
Baltimore is reliving the spirit of 1970.
Young people are out there
Raging against a machine that they feel has nothing for them.
Their legitimate dissent evaporating in the heat of violence.
The establishment reciting the decades old script,
With lines of country, law, and fear mongering
Masking the power’s inability to make a change
For the people most in need.

I’m getting me some enlightenment tonight,
Realizing that for all of our talk about
“Learning from the past”
“Solving problems creatively,”
We keep making the same mistakes and
Trying to apply the same solutions to our problems.

It’s time to change the narrative.
It’s time for a better process.