Rogue Poets Fight Thought Police

The true rogue poet

can’t help

being a thought criminal

in their own home.

Each slight

just makes the flame

burn brighter.

There is no death

by a thousand cuts

when each blow

makes the poems longer.

Real rogue poets

can bear any storm

and it only

makes them stronger. 

Hymnal of the Somber 6 Train

like machines

set to go and go

we drone through

these cramped quarters

only to travel some more

precision decisions

to shave precious seconds

from wasting away

we bleed time

into transit hell

more and more each day

the hustle and scrape

for survival pay

we soldier on

burning to do more

and be free of this

daily war

haunts us as we live it

and hunger for more

these dues we pay

and pay again

a thousand faces

press us close

and none of them a friend

Drive Explosion Ego Implosion

hitting pavement

rolling thunder

inviting rain, pain

and highway chimes

following whims

and the faded

roadside signs

letting it all unfold:

prime America

open road

blaring loud

in rabid gasps

begging us to

live again

in garrulous blasts

roughhousing

our own way

years upon years

beauty and glorious

without time

for tears

Winter Night

the sweet bite

of a hard wind

alerts a certain kind

made strong

with a sharp

winter’s mind

pace the cold streets

unbending

feeding glorious

waking dreams

unending

let us be

unbound warriors

burning for the night

made immortal

with the star-glazed

machinery of might

Burned Out Firing Up

stunned sad

by my own reflection

caught among the commuter herd

going from bed to desk to death

mindspace cluttered 

with petty matters

paid to pretend to care

somewhere lost 

buried by the worry-lined face

is the slap-happy poet

who lived for twilight wine

and laughed 

under pink

sunset skies

rage in the transit cage

but vow

somehow

to find this person

again