Egalitarians of a smaller world
with forks for fingers
chew loudly on the gravy train
of poor boys paper thin paychecks
spit me out cause I got no cash
better to be on the street with
a shoeless shuffle
than trying to capture a seat
at the silver spoon table....

Pasty-faced bankers counting out loud
the graves of American dreams they spoiled
the song of their voices in unison
is a terrible dirge and a
strange romancer that keeps
one and all clinging to that sweetest of dreams
hope....

Dudley Do Right is a little man
in his little office
acting like the bureaucrat he was born to be
just pennies on the pound for his cold soul
a deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang
his heart a cardboard cutout of his childhood idol
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang

all these flavorless fools
pay to play on the great machine
where the crowds call for ever more
salacious parody of what should be
where the almighty buck stops here
twice a day
all day Sunday
preacher man
baker, solider, liar, thief
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang

© 2018 mark john junor all of my poems are my
exclusive property and all rights are reserved

I had been dreaming
about eating bruised peaches
that grew from a tree
by the river, its water
thick and sweet as sap.

I thought I saw an old woman
shaking her dustmop,
but it was only the moon
and stardust in the dark
that never stops.

In the fields
there was something barren
like a journey
and echoes of salt
sprinkling on a table
with food laid out for a wake.

The fog from the dream
by the river was smothering;
I was suffocating lying there
where it is said a young mother
once walked into the water
with the pockets of her dress
stuffed full of smooth rocks.

I woke when I heard
shouting that tore out the light
as night came flying by
like a bird dressed for a feast
wearing his finest black feathers.

yes,
you can kiss
my rose petal eyelids
my stained cheeks
my humming neck
my willing waist
my burning skin
anywhere on
my restless body
but kiss my lips,
and I'll spend the
rest of my life
aching
grieving
searching for
your stinging tongue

  fate assured me
   we'd burn violently
    but ultimately suns die
     every flame grows tired
      every bulb will break
      every wick will drown  
     charred and regretful
    weary and worn out
   drained of energy
  choking for air
i'm not ready
to ignite
just yet