On the path

I cry on the path everyday
no vaca for Shundrey
as the grief
comes in waves…
it don’t play
and it don’t pay,
to hang head,
so get up,
like a prime optimist
and transform the melancholy
into sonnets.

They out here denigrating women
like they ain’t never poured
into them,
inglorious and sanctimonious
ignorance and grift
and I won’t
stand for it,
I can only serve
my role
not those
of any other
impressions can
serve to smother
our calling
especially in
our darkest
hours.

No footing granted
for the evil
as they will stumble
before the fall…
haughty souls
who pillage,
leaving the masses
in flux…
with no fucks given,
incisions in the
body politic
will lead to rot…
in lieu of despots
and their minions
who have shirked
provisions for
wisdom…
no golden rule followed
for the shallow
and rotten
who coerce their
worshipers into
villainy and
the abdication
of those who poured
the elixir of love
into their cups.