Damming Up Life’s Stream of Consciousness

Maybe this evokes an intermittent John Prine-ish note? A touch of John Callaghan? Possibly Rodney Dangerfield? Ha! Yeah, right. Still rising to becoming a grateful human being.

So please read the following with an imaginary blues riff inserted between each. Or maybe a rim shot.

It might cause traffic to come to a stop and sightseers to gawk

but do wheelchair users ever get challenged to walk the walk?


I feel like a solitary party of one and for that I’m seeking a panacea

But luckless me has never even witnessed the face of Jesus on a tortilla


So if it’s Colonel Mustard in the cloister with an ever-burgeoning cross

doesn’t that make all religious dogma just a clueless albatross?


Imagine the handful Jesus was throughout his early teens?

so why did it take him so long to finally spill the beans?


I bought what was described as Geronimo’s old Cadillac

it actually was a Pontiac from the cheese king Monterey Jack


I’m not sure if I’m Saturday night or Sunday morning

it depends on which Mary Magdalene role I’m performing


How does one become not just proficient but good at suicide?

have a body to subdivide like good old Jekyll and Hyde


Got a ticket the other day from a meter maid named Rita

the judge, he lectured me to read backwards the Bhagavad Vita


My favorite band of all time is Lot’s Wife and the Saltines

with hits like “Nazarene Obscene” and “Peron the Argentine”


Second is Sisyphus and the Unfulfilled Sherpas

known for their ascending and descending aortas


Were the Apostles truly the first and only fight club?

Is it true their ringmaster was none other than Beezlebubb?


I’m training guide dogs for the atrociously empirically impaired

those savantless idiots who believe Norwegians all drive Fjords


The key to staying off the Grim Reaper’s shopping list?

For one, never kiss an unlicensed or practicing proctologist

The Past, the Present and The Future


Not final thoughts, call them edible words

digest these syllables not as a sermonette

rather a collection of ideas and notions

written hard in mind and put away wet

Evil is, yes, the world’s purest desire

and humans will never break from its twining

it’s a backwater oozing enchanting siren songs

laden with devil hybrids and their beastly strip mining


Long before this nation’s so-called founding

chains were placed heavy across human hearts

call it the original-est of mankind’s sins

the scars on the enslaved in order to tell them apart


Death freighters sailed across the dark seas

Lower in the water, burdened with heavy hate

the ticket-less cargoes bound for King Cotton

timeless auction blocks remain the South’s soulmate


Label them holy shrines or places of the damned

they birthed Wallace, Maddox, Connor and that filth

the reality is there’s a new generation always bidding

the latest now nattily dressed in suits and ties of silk


Oh, come one, come all to the public lynch

it’s a swing and sway of the three-fifths faction

for when it’s a state’s right to maim and then kill

as one doesn’t emancipate with solely a proclamation


Call it an alignment with the status quo gospel

brewed and marinated in feral and fetid DNA

always remember, ‘it’s Mr. James Crow to you boy’

for the genocidal will never stop seeking prey


In a land where Senators Helms and Thurmond held sway

MLK and Medgar Evers bled for the color of their skin

is the right to breathe truly a sign of progress?

Martin and Medgar, they never found room at the inn


Yes, human giants climbed many of the mountaintops

alerting and and warning about fires of five alarm

challenging the ordinary ‘we’ve always done it this way’

battling malignant foes laden with hate to harm


But this ill extends far beyond the southern seceders

to constituents professing kinship with the Golden Rule

but when human innocence is profanely slain

the thirst of all is quenched by the vilest of cesspools


‘no dark-skinned Nazarene is gonna tell me what to do’

the humane algorithm is plainly never to be solved

for grace obviously has a mind of its own

sorry Darwin, no cure will ever exist for the devolved


Sprinting backwards, where hate de jour isn’t a defect

but now rather lauded as a worthwhile feature

Mr. Tangerine Man’s blessed syphilitic spittle

define him as both a con and a sewer


McConnell proffers his unctous, smirking smile

alongside John Roberts lip-synching Pontius Pilate

each succoring up for greater human sacrifice

with a genteel most genuinely counterfeit


Have black lives ever really mattered?

only in the futures market of the enslaved

angels yes, among us there are no better devils

sadism is simply home sweet home for the depraved


With science and facts afire at the stake

and death squads in blue roaming the lands

the latest iteration of absolute no-nothings

strictly defines the party Republican


Jesus arrived at the dusty crossroads

declaring “I’m allergic to all matters of wood,

for the price it isn’t always right,

even in the cause of brotherhood”