Things are getting so sharp,
deplenished and unreplaced.
Regurgitated, swallowed whole,
then spit up again served new.
Broken crowns in black not gold are
still claiming in the name of the king.
A blockaded bishop is of little value
when the rooks have crumbled down.
Shutting off the logical part of the mind
to hear the sound of one hand clapping.
Riddles on bombs falling from flaming
birds on places people have never been.
Loser is such a harsh word, just say
the father of the boy who didn’t win.
Old high performance energy theft.
Pissing contests on vintage rugs too.
Plastic faces breed pretty lies in towers
above the peasants pleading for change.
James D. Casey IV is a southern poet with roots in Louisiana & Mississippi, currently residing in Illinois with his Muse, their goofy dog, and two black cats. Mr. Casey has authored four books of poetry; his most recent title is Owls in Hot Rods with Pink Elephants and Dead Bats. His work has also been published by several lit mags and small press venues including Triadæ Magazine, Poetry Breakfast, I am not a silent poet, In Between Hangovers, Beatnik Cowboy, Rye Whiskey Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, Zombie Logic Review, Tuck Magazine, and Outlaw Poetry.
Crows peck at the eyes of blind
Dead men. As maniacs sell them
Pain in the form of pennies, and
Fear, and walls, and expensive
Holes to bury their brittle
Bones. The dogs all march, and
The vultures all lie, and the
Snakes all rape. None worth
Their weight in smegma stained
Panties of disease ridden whores.
All happening in the middle of
The shit covered street. All while
The “innocent” bystanders drink
Their expensive IPA. Wearing their
Fucking hipster clothes. Burning
Flags and posting political memes
On social media for attention
Whore “Likes.” Just to piss people
Off because they’re pissed instead
Of trying to do something that will
Actually make a positive change.
But rest assured the crows grow
Evermore ravenous, and we will all
Be blind and dead eventually. No
Matter how this whole charade pans
Out in the end. So if you’re a
Maniac be a maniac. If you’re a
Dog be a dog. If you’re a vulture
Be a vulture. If you’re a snake
Be a snake. But, if you must insist
On being a bystander…please
Stop drinking shitty IPA and wearing
Your fucking ridiculous hipster clothes.
As for the rest of us, wherever you
May stand, let’s share a toast. Because
This too shall pass, and hell, if it doesn’t,
Then at least we have a front row seat
To the season finale of the craziest
Show on primetime tell-a-vision.
Peace, pot, and anal lube, motherfuckers.
James D. Casey IV is a published author of two poetry books: ‘Metaphorically Esoteric’ & ‘Dark Days Inside the Light While Drunk on Wine.’ He is also working on his third under the title “Tin Foil Hats & Hadacol Coins” that is expected to be published within the next few months. Mr. Casey’s writings have been published in international ezines and on several websites. Poetry Life & Times, Artvilla, Realistic Poetry International, and Poetry Super Highway have him listed in their poet archives as well. You can find links to his books, social network profiles, and other projects on his website at http://louisianakingcasey.wixsite.com/big-skull-poetry.