Approaching The Disconnect

The here’s-my-money-fix-me
requires a rest, and not
necessarily the quick pivot

The royal deigns to sell
state secrets to select specimens
from the huddled masses.

Rise in glory.

That model is finished
yet we need to eat.

Unseen the madhouses-turned-jail
torture chambers for have-nots
overflowing tormented innocence.

It’s only capital punishment
if you don’t have the capital.

I will no longer invest
in that narrative

and still

my only words and metaphors
come from this stinking pile
of excrement.

reach down into the Deep Soil
to eradicate the mint
you planted in a container
but it’s jumped to the shore
strangling the Natives.

Every seed we plant
requires this story

I know best

and besides

I won’t be here

when it all breaks down.

World-builders, we must consider
each unintended consequence.
All around us, symptoms
of the ill-thought drive
rags-to-riches dream.

Against the law to live
without shelter, illegal to claim
to belong to this land
without legal proof.

The scoff-worthy

land is my mother


So the unbearable reality blooms
foul separation, be better
than your unknowable neighbors.

Isolated in grandeur,
medicated to mask
the urgent smell
of rot

we exercise on the treadmill,

never arriving

in the sweetly poisoned air

with pest control spraying

delicate death

on the lives we don’t treasure.

Inspired by Symptom, Rest, Exercise, and Royal.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s