I confront the question of shall I remain silent or shall I scream aloud?  I watch the imminent doom of complacency as the American Empire approaches its fall.  Wondering whether or not to narc out the true criminals.  Or should I close my eyes and pretend not to see?


It’s so easy not to stand up.  They cut out a line for me to numb my pain; to numb my thought.  They sit my empty head in front of any empty TV screen with empty TV programming.  Can’t go to work ‘cause I might miss “Dallas” or some other insipid program.  My vote doesn’t matter anyway.  It’s all the same bleeding heart liberal—tight-assed conservative.  They promise me the moon and the stars.  I get a headache instead.  The moon and stars already belong to everyone.  It isn’t theirs to give.  I already gave upon constellations and dance in moonlight.  Now I wonder if they’ll make a tax for that.


Let’s tax the moon and stars and give a tax cut to zillionaires.  It will piss off the dreamers and the poets.  They can’t get by as it is.  We’ll make them pay for what they dream on.  Tax and destroy.  Let the starving artist pay for it all.  That’s all it is to them.  Now the game goes on.  I abdicate the throne.  I don’t wanna play their rotten game anymore.



View georgeschaefer's Full Portfolio
allets's picture

Old Game

Feudalism - Lords and serfs, Ladies and serfettes. To ante up, sacrifice is required. Avarice, immorality, vengeange, killer instinct, aggression, lack of empathy - pist doctorate and zillionare ville is your gated commune. Most people figure it out between 69 and 75. We are the ant poets, only the privileged get to see the Queen. 



georgeschaefer's picture

I'm more of a worker bee poet

I'm more of a worker bee poet myself