He trips. He soars.

Something wet he tripped on
A little too ripe for his tastes
But unavoidable all the same
He blamed the words
Told them they were wrong
Even though the source
Was as presidential as they come

His counterpart was a tyrant from the future
Across the murky world of fish and coral reefs
Similar things were said
Except one word was slanted too steeply
Now He of the Mighty Famine
Is exposed
Maybe deposed

Right before those fatal movements
He trips. He soars.
Transporting ballistic national pride
Above the inspiring waters


Lucky 3

What happened to the fourth leaf?
Was it eaten?
Squished in the hand of a tyrant?
Blown away by the blind storm?

The storm was selective with its hand
Weaving destruction delicately with a soothing aftermath
No one thought to check on the old schoolteacher
Or the silver-haired man rocking his life away
Not even the hunched over patron of the river

A rising tide
Obscured a sky splitting into a thousand pieces
And the merciless theft of a clover’s fourth leaf
Nature crafts a web of sorts
Deal with it


Simple good

Don’t look now
It’s that word again
Creeping up on rigid pillars
Weaving its way through
Dark suburban bedrooms
And majestic kempt lawns
Stealing the thinking man’s hardhat

It needs to be expunged
Because categories are so delightful
Who is nuance, a word among many
To challenge that?
Complexity is just trying to be sneaky
Corrupting the natural order of 100 years ago

And buildings were demigods
Words from the academy sacrosanct
The grey-haired shamans from a simpler time
Reveled in anarchy

The economy was also good
Because it would bend to your mind
A seething complex thing that no one comprehended
But understood in crystal clarity when the time came