A Horse Is a Horse


A horse is a horse, of course of course
Unless that horse is a tool of the state.
In which case this poor creature has been forced
for consent it cannot communicate.

Its rider sitting atop its back,
the horse think it’s just giving a ride
To the nice men who feed it out back
in the stables where the horse resides.

The horse knows not what’s going on
that its rider is in fact an enforcer
Wielding his badge, pistol and baton
to impose his interpretation of order.

Horses were meant to gallop and play
be petted, cared for and loved
Not to be used in this unnatural way
To look down on people from above. [Read more…]

Welcome to New Hampshire, Slow Children


My professor keeps talking. About the importance of punctuation?
I think spelling. And grammar are more important?
She? Puts way too much. Emphasis on…punctuation
I should have went? When the class ended,
but the nearest restroom was designated only to be used by pregnant elderly children and the disabled.
I ran into some friends I made. At my freshman orientation, they asked me how I liked university life
I excitedly replied I love fucking college guys!!!!
After, school I went to a nearby.
Restaurant and was told I’d start my meal with breadsticks and my table. Was ready in seconds?
But I changed my mind about eating. At the restaurant, I thought, of an excuse…to leave.
I told the waiter, “Sorry my stomach is not feeling well. I cannot eat diarrhea.”
I don’t often..Go to restaurants: alone. [Read more…]

A Monument to Futility


The byproduct of LBJ’s Great Society, I was born in the 60s,
and built on the notion of somehow helping the poor
by cramming them into a single location

With the Civil Rights Movement came the political will
to help the impoverished and disenfranchised.
Or at least that was the narrative
that was spoonfed to the masses

I’ve seen newborns brought home from the hospital
and young men taken too soon,
my floors chilled from their spilled blood [Read more…]

This Poem Is Not About Eating Meat


Another day, another dollar,
as my blade sinks into the clammy flesh
of the carcass of a creature murdered in an assembly line.
Just grabbing a hunk of pork through my gloved fingers
makes my skin crawl.
The only thing more disgusting than handling this corpse?
Knowing that people will eventually eat of it,
lick their lips, and ask for more.
Such is the plight of the town’s only vegan butcher.

I avoid animal consumption — opting instead for alternatives —
for the simple reason of: garbage in, garbage out.
The only cut I recommend is none

But I wasn’t always the town’s only vegan butcher.
For I once savored this job and was the happiest butcher in the world.
I once loved the taste of meat. The feeling of it between my teeth.
I greedily devoured one cadaver after another,
or as I used to call it, “pleasures of the flesh”.

I grew up eating meat and saw others doing the same
So it never occurred to me to reject what everyone else enjoyed
Until the day I visited a slaughterhouse
and for the first time I saw the murder in the meat.
[Read more…]