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.