100 DAYS OF POETRY: DAY 57 - Wrecking Ball

Wrecking Ball
By Stephen Martin

I feel the circles of your voice
Transfixing the energy around it
And shepherding the migratory flock
Into subligation.

The toes of Apocalypse
Creep into the barnyard
And the mouths chastise
The teething moments of Babylon's
Resurrection.

You. The formidable truculence
The mouth sayer.
The harbinger of foolery.

You. The greasy greaser
Of malleable wheels
Of sparkling tambourine boogie men.

You found a slit in the time space continuum
And exploited it
Like you’ve exploited everything thus far.

You. The bully bound vagabond
Your eyes are yellow
And your heart is multicoloured slop.

The brighter window is now obscured.
The promised moments are abjured
The only begotten is rotten
And the men suffer your ineptitude
And the women grieve.

This enemy we know of is strong now
You were a stop gap measure.

We are still being unloaded on with morsels
Of hope
To prop you up
Because your pride needs constant propping.

But I am done hoping that you are moral
Too many evil doers jump rope on the playground.

I voted for you.
I might vote for you again.
But that is only because voting is broken
And I don’t want to give them the satisfaction
Of total relinquishment of my dignity
By voting for a blatant puppet.

You were my wrecking ball
But your tweeting fingers and cry-babying
Have left me cynical.
I chastise myself for thinking you could help
Fix something that is beyond fixing.

I understand that I do not know it all
But I do know that a sour fastidiousness
Has overtaken my will to hope in an individual,
And that this whole process has to end sometime.

The marble buildings we worship
Do not hold the answers to our questions
They only house the inevitable decay that comes
When power is concentrated
And tax slaves are the norm.

I don’t want to make the war machine tick
I would quit right now if I didn’t need to declare
Dependants on my tax documents.
Because I don’t want the stuff
I don’t want the convenience
I just want to love and help.

My mother likes to ask me
“What do you think now?”
And I give the standard reply,
“It’s better than the alternative.”

I’m tired. Dear wrecking ball
Please start swinging again
Just make sure you aim at
DC.

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