To cut cords

Homespun… let me
expunge air from lungs
as I lunge,
or lounge
in poetic frequencies…

using pen
as weaponry
in a world of decadence –
flex words as swords
to cut the cords
of ignorance
against foul men
who stink
with bad ankles
who are rankled
by my imperviousness
to their methods
of Tomfoolery,
so they hate me
but I torture evil
by continuing
to shine brightly.

You better
get up and at them
or
hop
to it like
hasenpfeffer…

pass the pepper
or the prose
for me to season
while the foolish
slumber…

birds of a feather
don’t tarry when
they plunder riches
from the land
while the children
are distracted
shaking
their wobbly bits,
not reading books…

sobbing into hands
ain’t grand
but the mighty
will stand
and I am
one of them.