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There'd be no B.O.

    --no bad breath

    --no athletes foot.

We'd never know

    --our teeth get yellow

    --our eyes turn red.

Our hair could gray

    our feet could smell,

        and pimples might be the rage.

None of this stuff would matter to us, 
heck, given wigs, 
we'd revive the Renascence.

But soapbox plugs have sprinkled us

with bigger, better, new and improved

since way before Days of Our Lives.

  

DISCLAIMER: BUY PRODUCTT is intended for simple entertainment and in no way endorses neglect of personal or physical physical hygiene.  It is a simple poem based mostly on sarcasm, with minor political, but non partisan, political undertones.  The author in no way experts intelligent consumers to carry on in the manner suggested in this text.  No lab animals were used in the writing of this poem. 

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Agnotics Prey

God, I don't know if We are hear or not.
You're last sincere gift, Christ, is a sell out
a ticket to heaven I haven't earned.
I need a lifetime, or more, to be sure.
Somehow, I sense We've been here before,
because Nirvana seemed so real on drugs.

Thanks to the folks who pray for me, it helps,
but I can't take their miracles on faith.
The only miracle is that I am here,
a cast off in evolution and time.
Like it or not, We share these feelings,
Besides, hell is a concept no one deserves.


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Circuit Breaker

A snap-crackle-pop of shorted circuits

arc and fuse to sputter along some relay,

sending vague electrical impulses

to the hydraulics.  Which raise my arm.

With confidence I tell the teacher

that I forgot what I was going to say.



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10-28-84

Camflauge

8-30-84

They're out there waiting
     wearing khaki and black.
They're out there waiting
     planning ruthless attacks.

Are they armed?  You bet!
     With guns, bombs, and money.
Am I alarmed?  Not yet:
     I'm drinking beer with my honey.

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Declaration In Dependence

6-24-84

My fantastic flight
need not props
of right or left wings
foiling my air.

No manifest will
design, define, or deny
my destiny.

No self chained majority
will ever rule me
or judge my morals.

No elected representative
will elect
to represent me.

No class structure will contain me.

No status system will
symbolize my well being.

No general will order me to slaughter
for corporate interests abroad,
when the enemy are the homeless,
the starving, and the poor...
my brothers and sisters.

No dictator will enforce
his decrees and subjugate
my will to submission.

No smokescreen politician can
enter my backroom to deny me
hopes, wants, dreams, or drugs.

Bo morally bankrupt institution
will develop interest 
on my account. 

No religion can condone, condemn,
or redeem me: nor savior
martyr for my sins.

Nor does anyone deserve
my martyrdom.

There is love in my heart.
There is hope in my soul.
But my mind secretly concedes 
to anarchy.

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Comprehend?

 
6-20-84

The T.V. lies before shortsighted eyes
illuminating a discord of news.
Images, talk, dandy interpretations
assure us everything will be just fine.


Eat it up!  Buy the party line!  Believe!
Let the programmers do what they must:
market a vision responsive to needs.
Besides, we can't  consume reality.

-dp-

Stealing Dr. Suess

Went shopping to buy my green eggs and ham.
This woman in an aisle confronted me,
saying: "You know it's illegal to smoke
in the store".  Sure I knew, but feigned surprise,
white lied, "no, really?  Well, I'm almost done".
"Would you be so kind as to put it out?"
I blushed and flashed my best boyish grin
as forefinger and thumb rolled the cherry off.
My bare foot crushed red black into tile,
while fingers retained a substantial butt.
She reproached me again:  "I asked you nicely
to please put it out.  I find your habit
offensive.  I'm getting the manager."
I murmured,  "I find you offensive, bitch".
She stormed off to the managers office.
I picked up a carton while checking out,
left, lit up, and limped back to my car.


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6-4-84