Wickedness dances like a Chinese dragon
held high on poles by the grinning

It curls its tail and snakes around the minds
of admirers who see beauty in its gaping jaws

Flaccid and incapable, this billowing beast
intoxicates and seduces the frustrated and resentful

It dances in Kirachi, hoodwinks in Bradford,
and slips into the dark places in distracted minds

— this infernal idea more bilious and mephitic
than a komodo’s bite

It dances wildly in the confused thoughts of lost boys
who haven’t noticed its cunning wink

They sway and rock — utterly taken
far more mistaken — until stilled by the slap of death

O Death,be not unkind,
For this manner of delay,
One might find unpleasant.
Being thrown into an unceasing progression to turmoil;
Why would you be not wished for,
And why would you be not thought a relief?
Hush.
Your pride deafens you,
Thus,you hear not.
Your might hoodwinks you,
Thus,you heed not.
And perhaps,your schedule binds you,
Thus,you meet not.

Tasked today with thorning
thistled favor over reigns,
we drained the shot that scored
the weak on board
and shattered crystal pain.
Who drops us off white rockets
pulled from earth like swede from stone
to jet to planes above?
The fuel we love, abundant every turn:
advice in our good ands. Disseminating
buts like rice, exceptions
unto every goal,
obscuring each clear picture
in the way. Re-light
and curse the days

you fight it, pining, elbows up,
some cheap romance whose pages
wear you thin. You render
heartache on the blow -
skid-crushing, woeful throes
of counterpoint dispatched to swallow
lightness from the shore.
Wise up

and ask for more.
Be stronger - shed your brightness
on the bay. Delay those saturated
hoodwinks. Gamble on discreetless
balconies where broke your fall
from order. Signal wholeness
of your cause, re-bolster lack of laws
with blinding arrows to your neck -
revise, rehone the wherewithal
to do what’s due: respect.

At times there are not two sides to a story
When there's a "side" that hoodwinks and distracts
The public with a far-fetched explanation,
While paying no attention to the facts.

A lot of us believe that truthfulness
And honesty should always be our guide--
Good investigative journalists
Check the facts so truths are verified.

We can see the demagogues at work.
Oh, how they twist the truth to meet their needs!
They finely tune their powers of deception
So they can get away with their misdeeds.

It helps when they have power and control--
Particularly when they have the latter--
And when they have supporters who believe
That lying isn't wrong and facts don't matter.

So if you feed me nonsense and proclaim
That honesty is not obligatory,
Then you confirm what I have just expressed:
At times there are not two sides to a story.

-by Bob B (2-26-22)

Sometimes,
There is no point
In holding onto hope.
Sometimes
You just
exisit.
Maybe you are cast away,
Riding on the notes of of a piano
That drift into the empty lobby.
Where the carpet reminds you of your first apartment.

Maybe sometimes its all nonsense that fills your mouth and hoodwinks the special moments that shouldve felt like a rising sun after hours sitting in the cold. Thinking of revalations.

Maybe this cigarrette tastes like nihilism and the smoke looks like you feel.

Maybe your fingers are burning with lust of creation but the rest of you cant catch up.

Maybe you swallow and shift in your seat trying to peice together the exact moment that you couldnt stand waking up anymore. Maybe this nothing just isnt enough and you need more because the ciggarets stopped working a month ago and everytime you see yourself in the mirror its a shade of blue youve never seen before. And maybe in the shower with your head pressed agaisnt the tile you wonder how well the water would mix with your blood and how long the curtains could hide the scene.

Maybe when you look at the stars it doesnt look like forever but feels like a box with little pinholes poked in the top so you can get just enough air. Maybe your chest collapses trying to figure out how to breath again and maybe nothing helps and it all tastes like ash and maybe you punch the ground, ****** your knuckles and look at the damage with a strange curious numbness wonder what just happened.

Maybe tomorrow...

Maybe not.

Grief is a thief that
Hoodwinks normalcy

Just walking along
Then suddenly: BOOM!

Tears flow
Steps slow

Follow the tear’s trail
Down your left cheek

A universe of memories
Flashed in a moment

Sadness, anger, love
Angst, regret, forgiveness

Every step forward was
Already forged in the past