Propaganda for Summer and Bugs

The fireflies are out at last,
(though most people here call them “lightning bugs”)
and I am home again.

Photo courtesy of Flickr user Kendra Miller: http://bit.ly/1Ml9cWj

Photo courtesy of Flickr user Kendra Miller: http://bit.ly/1Ml9cWj

Under a canopy of idle air,
we lift our dirt-creased necks
and eclipse the humid oppressing heat
with gales and rips
in 5/4:
picking and riffing,
singing in iambic pentameter
of the truest philosophies,
older than the bluest grass,
growing on the smokiest mountains,
connected by the clothes lines of electricity
that zone our yards and our histories.

We are outshone only by the lightning bugs,
their mysteries illuminating our tired eyes.
It’s no surprise we are blue-screen-weary
and much less cheerful than we were last time we all came home.
We’re never alone now:
because there are always bugs everywhere
especially in North Carolina,
but the fireflies are only here in summer–
temporary
like a visit with family should be.

Photo courtesy of Flickr user Kendra Miller: http://bit.ly/1NUKUmr.

Photo courtesy of Flickr user Kendra Miller: http://bit.ly/1NUKUmr.

For a moment we are a collective captive audience:
as if inside a mason jar with holes poked in the lid,
still breathing,
remembering what it meant to be here before,
dancing around metacognition,
our shared tradition.
Not all lights burn as bright as ours when we come back home
to catch up on the fruit of our labor
and the respect we leave to earn;
going far entails return.

The lightning bugs are out at last, and I am home again.

We are the Posterity: Propaganda for the Free

The Constitution of the United States

Preamble

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

We are the Posterity

The Founders fought out brawls and battles
revolutionary
with guns, pens, fifes and dictionaries,
loudly raising muskets and glasses together in jovial fraternity,
fishing Patriots out of Harbors rife with Tea
in synchronous Harmonies
with the Wind of Revolution’s Sagacity.

From where comes this Wind that blesses the Land of the Free? 

Freedom is still new, Aaron, so we must practice it where it will no doubt live on in infamy--New Jersey.

Freedom is still new, Aaron, so we must practice it where it will no doubt live on in infamy–New Jersey.

Perhaps it comes from the sea?
But first,
who among us that breathes this Wind is free?

Are we, the Posterity,
fully realized,
living out our ordination by the Founders,
#blessed with domestic Tranquility
and the Blessings of Liberty?
The Lady’s Torch wanes faint
as of late
in the dusky decent of United We Stand
deep into the quicksand
poured deep by message-sent, bank-lent American Corporatocracy.

Who then are we, left alone to our blue-screened devices,
trifles, duck-calls and rifles,
isolated by the just-say-no, Tivo® Eifel Towering splices
of French-lent Enlightenment that’s done gone sour again?
Who are we,
to sit idly (iPadly) by while the Wind peters out
and the rain descends?

lady liberty

Ann, we agreed on “tired, poor, restless, and tempest-tossed” a long time ago. It’s all right here on my tablet, man!

When will the Wind pick up again?

Take heart, take heed.
The Wind will blow stronger still as we form our majority
of out the needs of what we are told to believe
is the minority.

Who tells you this lie?

We buy what we buy
and we #connect our lives
seamlessly and subconsciously;
by ads and digital labs
we are woven together by our analytics,
the implied Consumer Laws of the State
that propagate the Corporations that create
our jobs,
our wages, stagnated by complacence
so even the President of the Nation
joins with us now, raising his face to the Wind that blows coarsest through the South,
and having felt it, looks at the faces of our Comrades, saying,
We see that now.”

And do we all yet see
that until we are all free, we are none of us free? (Lazarus, Emma.)
Until the Blessings of Liberty are extended past the limited Posterity
of the Rich, White, Slave-Owning Patriarchy
and the Civil Liberty of domestic Tranquility is established
today for Our Posterity,
then we have ordained Nothing;
We have established Nothing.

316 slaves lived at Mount Vernon. Yes, lick me. Put me on your mail.

316 slaves lived at Mount Vernon. Yes, lick me. Put me on your mail.

Who then is Free,
this subset,
this fraction of the Posterity?
Take a stand with me on this, the day of our Liberty—
raise your face to the Wind and smell the Freedom that we can start to Breathe.

Look for us, out and about on the streets, on the interwebs, and hugging trees,
Comrades, each tempest-tossed, but not lost,
committed to our Land of Equality,
the Land of the Free.

We are the Posterity,
avowed to save the Land of the Brave.
We will do now what was once left undone:
Secure the Blessings of Liberty,
form a More Perfect Union,
and stand together Equally as One.

We are the Posterity,
the Majority,
and today we must be Free.

#UnitedWeStand #DividedWeFall #EPluribusUnum #SeparateIsNotEqual #OwnYourFreedom

Small Talk Is Out

I can’t have any more small talk,
any more how was your weekend? or
where did you go for lunch? and
are you having a nice afternoon?
Fuck me!

How many times over to infinity must we pretend to care about the most trivial details
of one another’s lives
to preserve the courteous facade of the firm’s commitment to service
and patch our cracking glass windows
so colleagues won’t see in past the shiny day-in-the-life of dirty civilized consumerkind?

But by all means, make niceties!
Well, how about the big game?
We were out on the lake!
I could have used another day!
Har har har!
Me too, friend,
pal,
chum,
Sunny Fucking Jim.

Let’s just get it over with, shall we?
Off come the sunglasses,
off come the kid gloves,
down comes the business suit.
Take your mobile device, pal,
or maybe a click pointer, buddy.
Grab your stapler, Sunny Fucking Jim,
and shove them all up up up
and shut up up up.

You are the worst.
Your banalities expand {my, the workers’] daily hell;
each empty turn of phrase murders our sensitivities,
leaving us hollow.
Chalk us up,
more victims dropped politely
with all the pomp
and all the circumstance
into your dehumanizing (un)conversational jail.

What if we broke free from this mindless back-and-forth?
What if instead, you had a conversation with me?
Look now into my eyes and see a human,
and respond to what you see.

Do more with your words than desensitize society
over
drip
time
drip
like
drip
water
drip
torture
drip.ID-10042506