Forever through the meadow
as it grows festering yellows
that reach up attempting to breathe beauty
but instead deemed as weeds, they multiply
as if the grass could forever attend
The bickering never stops
a melancholy broken only by a submersion
into the unreal
Chopin down the revulsion
of the little opportunities now available.
Women have come so far in their sexual liberation
but the oppressed remain oppressed.
The class struggle forgotten by those who can
wear jeans, lipstick, and who practice a repressing tolerance
of accept me as I am, The first amendment of
the wasteful economy which so far wins
leaving behind traces of a people separated by individual interests.
The grass bleeds red, white and blue:
so many grasses touched by oppression, entrapped in exploitation
and held back by guns and those who have the ability to rise
held down by their twisted understanding of freedom
which is now a word owned by the media and the capitalists
and one which we may only feel in dreams and in the swipe which more than
anything enslaves us into fulfilling the tasks of the capitalist cycle:
we are those who scream enough but let plastic guide us
the 21st century of conformist non-conformists.