despite desolate despair Denise Denniman desperately denied
depression. Devoutly devoted dervishes dictated disbelief and
despair. Dodging dinosauric dipsy-doodle, Denise’s Dippity-doo
demanded direction. Discombobulated directives dishonored
disillusioned dweebs and desperados
They interviewed the artist
inside her large blueprint mansion.
At one point, she criticized America
for being overtly materialistic.
Her painting studio was large enough to
house half a dozen desperados...
Instead, it harbored dozens of giant unsold paintings.
I was amazed by how bright a person could be completely blind to their own
devastating hypocrisy.
In an age so chaotic
desperados resort to narcotics
desperados have the sheriff’s address
they are threatening the life of his family
he rides his mount nearly to death
ready to face the outlaws with guns blazing
a posse joins him, determined to be of help
hoping they will get there in time
wanting to save his wife and children
a posse on a mission
some called them desperadoes
their feats were written up in dime novels
bankers dreaded the day they would show up
I called them sons, they were sweet babies to me.
Oh, say can you see the land of the freebie
and the home of the ungrateful bleating.
Where borders are blown wide open by vote vamps.
To the glee of coyotes -desperados -the depraved.
Stars and stripes replaced by the heartless-shooting blanks.
Where elitist stick shanks into the faith of good people.
Who're deemed racist for standing for a starry banner... disgraced.
The trinity was tossed long ago into cancel culture canyon.
Were last seen thumbing it down Route 666 in a flash flood.
As the cultists put another bullet in Honest Abe's head.
While looters and rioters and cop killers were martyred.
Working-class stiffs were slit open- bled out from either end...
into the collection plate of the jackass-fascist and Uncle Sham...
Where goodness was woven into the fabric of evil and mayhem.
Upon burning looms of crooked buffoons and bullhorn goons.
In the land of the freebie and the home of the ungrateful dead.
Emerging from the shadows of the mission’s broken wall,
The moon falls on her shoulders like a ghostly silken shawl.
She wears a chain of silver and abalone shells.
Her eyes as bright as emeralds, her voice, like Spanish bells.
She wanders past the courtyard, the potter’s earthen jars,
The lights of the cantina, the lullaby guitars,
To step beyond the threshold of conservative affairs,
And let her dark desires be the focus of her prayers.
She conjures desperados burning ranchos built of straw.
Her reckless indiscretions led to brushes with the law.
She’s broken her piñata and found herself beguiled.
Her heart was always restless, but now she’s running wild.
She glides among the canyons like a ghostly vagabond,
Her freedom the expression of the innocence she’s pawned.
She wraps herself like water around the un-carved stone.
It’s easy to imagine, but hard to let alone.
I look for her in turquoise that mirrors desert skies,
The wind that sweeps the mesa, my lover’s sleepy eyes,
The haunted midnight pueblo, the cool adobe dawn;
Though mountains rise between us whichever side I’m on.
We bite the dust every morning,
spitting gray powder, like desperados.
Firebirds nosedive in forewarning,
perverting the trees into hell’s tornadoes.
We taste sooted smog on our tacky tongues,
dragging all our shadows of remorse.
Finding no habitat for our wheezing lungs,
we long for the rain’s fecund watercourse.
We find Death Valley spreading like a contagion,
and dodge parched patches, bruised and baked by sol.
So delirious our meandering, we know not our region,
our infernal night camps reek of cinder and wood coal.
We chant, not knowing the meaning of an arcane lyric,
unsure how to summon the recondite eidolon of Seth.
As city shells smolder, all chronic hearts await some mantic.
Surely hell will freeze over, so we wait with bated breath.
If veins pulsed with liquid gold
we'd be lucky to last one night
victims to pyrite-hearted souls
who'd suck us dry before first light.
If eyes and tongues were made of gems
they'd soon be plucked for prophet
by bands of blind and greedy men
leaving mimes chained to purple sockets.
If arms and legs were made of ivory
we'd be cornered then quickly quartered
by hordes of desperados and poachers
for the sake of filling godless dowries.
If souls were woven from emerald
and hearts made of glowing rubies
they'd pillage then refill with emptiness
and echo the walk of the walking dead.
If testicles were made of pearls
every man would soon resemble girls.
I’ve seen enough desperados
like you in my day
daring to dance
perched upon the precipice
burned too many times
flesh charred to the bone
from diving deep into
the same polluted pool
of acid affection
In a world of razorblade romance
and sardonic smiles
sincerity doesn’t stand a chance
of being noticed or acknowledged
Imperfection the gravest sin
A heart such as mine
could never hope to win
I can’t listen to love songs anymore
or I’d never get out of bed
yet they still echo in my head
though my stereo speakers
are silent and I no longer sing
Flinging fallen stars I wished on
out of my window as I watch you
remembering that
some dance to forget
Once upon a time:
a wet market bat eater
turned humanity into mask-wearing
double-ply paper-hoarding survivalist.
Rapist and assorted ogres were being set free
while citizens were cuffed for walking beaches
San Fran libs gave free housing to convicts and druggies
while teachers lived in vans and cars like degreeless hippies...
PEOPLE! This is just a glimpse of what is to come
what happens when a rogue sets off a dirty bomb
millions of desperados will be displaced overnight
they'll disperse into the gun-stripped suburbs
frantically- hungry- dirty-minded
willing to snuff your life
for a little grub and
a sparkling behind
"crazy" preppers
were oh-so right...
once upon a time.
Fantastic but totally true,
my story I tell now to you.
This morning a criminal crew
came crashing in out of the blue!
Great fear for my life did ensue.
With cash and gold bricks in plain view,
my rings, and a tv—brand new—
I pled, “Take THESE!” What did they do?
They took all my t p in lieu!
t p--toilet paper
When I said this was true--Alas! I lied.
April 1, 2020
Quick! Let’s get to the bottom of it.
uncover the answers we seek
aggressively we are being spoon fed
running like desperados
Asymptomatic ; stuck in a circle of chaos
nevermind what we do not know
too much is shrouded in paranoia
inconvenient to look below the surface
now forced isolation, mindset changes,
Earth healing; may be what can free us.
Man’s intrinsic apathy's negligence-justified frown
Is the actual defining substance of a mortal clown;
Who with hollowed prejudgments fellow men slays,
And likens to hallowed duty his thoughtless decays.
He is evil's meekest martyr by doom's onus bound,
The cold-blooded outlaw donning dark's lucid veils;
His the bounden call to trim unwary lives that thrive,
His a sworn charge to hit to halt sea's merriest sails.
They're hell's happiest saints of true devoted cadre,
Obstinate desperados who without real reason hate;
Theirs rare glories for wanton vitriol by meanest fate
Met on innocent casualties of villainy's vicious adder.
What grand gratification fills world's cruelest hearts
That sting undeserving souls in most delicate parts?
Why do allegedly feeling minds grow numbest to cry,
Whilst their pleading victims in iron malevolence die?
How can life’s most cognitive kind find sweet preys,
In other creatures alike in mien and all visible ways?
All get out,
there’s fire in the hole
Dangerous as ...
bomb ‘bout to explode
Don’t keep anger in,
let the hatred all go
Dangerous as ...
emotions uncontrolled
Make the lions docile,
dose them down with dope
Dangerous as ...
hopelessness that can’t cope
All get out,
there’s water flooding the hold
Dangerous as ...
desperados selling their souls
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