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– The Urban Dream –

Midnight on the downtown strip;
I watch a painted paper crown
blow in circles among the roadworks rubble;
Evidence of fallen urban kings,
now gone to ground in hiding
where once they stood above the rabble,
lauding exploits turned irrelevant
in the harsher light of morning.
The law man stands on the sideline
to keep the fragile peace together,
to make some sense of the chaos
which spills over from the clubtown shutdowns.
The arrests are made,
with charges laid,
all the while as the billfold in his pocket
forms the schematic of his systemic collusion.
True justice has always been a poor mans illusion.

We pray by the scripture of political propaganda.
We make our protests,
our revelations,
and our testaments
scrawled in permanent marker
upon the hallowed halls
of bathroom walls.
What makes for conversation starters
in the heat of a liquid fulled moment
are the topics best kept away
from the better manners of our dinner tables,
the things we would never say out loud,
but believe with the core of our being;
What is just,
and right,
and true.
That which the common man
keeps himself blind to,
that which the authority
keeps others from want of seeing.

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