There You Have It

If they’re tolling a church bell
You figure all is well
In your little farming town
Where you have it there you have it there you have it

But if a storm should come one day
And wipe the steeple all away
You wouldn’t have it wouldn’t have it wouldn’t have it

Where everything is bought in sweat, and bought in tears
And sought in prayer, where people stop you
If they think that what you’re doing will stop the rain

Generations later on
Where junk is selling for a song
In a land where you can have it you can have it

And insurance pays the grift
And someone else will take the hit
So you can have it you can have it you can have it

Then why would you wait for things
Or keep your conscience on a chain
If you can have it you can have it you can have it

A wise man said What would you gain
If you had the whole damn thing
But lost your soul – well there you have it there you have it

If they’re tolling a church bell
You figure all is well
In your little farming town
Where you have it there you have it there you have it.

Found poem: Spam comment

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This is simply a cut and paste from a spam comment I received in another site. I’m not too worried about the spammer’s rights to this work, but if any of this is something you legitimately wrote, let me know and I’ll take it down.

James Bond

keeps aging in staccato bursts
as we work through a Blu-Ray set
a certain set of his jaw
a burst of gunfire.

Now a fork in the pleasant desert road
causes me to wonder what
causes him what joy in the evening
A chilled salad fork and revenge.

We Reduced our Mascot to Nothing

and studies proved he was still recognizable.
Parallelograms of any shape or color
provoked recognition of our brand.

We found out later it was caused by smell.
The aroma of our particular plastics plant
fastened as it was to every cup or wrapper,
every test print we produced.

But at the time we posited
that it was the parallel lines,
the suggestion of railroad tracks
stretching to sex or infinity
to what we used to call god.

Nightmare

I washed up from sleep with it,
tears in my eyes.
Something about my children,
about wasted time (I have never been away from them)
about regret (nothing on the day)
about loss (they all slept peacefully in the same house).

I asked what my dreams accused me of,
they crept back into forgetfulness,
having won their point.