NOTE — each Rerun Monday post will be deleted roughly 3 weeks after its publication, which is why it’s IMPORTANT to — if inclined to “like” and/or “comment” — to do so only in the linked/original post.

BTW, to date, all but 3 of the “rerun” poems are altered/revised versions of the original postings.

Deep down they know
       they’re not so much living as hiding
behind the tall  gilded walls and gates
of hollow prestige and artificial acclaim

in cliquish enclaves  restricted to those
       disposed to play the great game
                     of strategic ingratiation

— disposed to the parasitic business
of garnering deftly networked plaudits
       honours  fellowships and grants;
of scoring the usual institutional stamps
                     of establishment approval.


Delusional daisies   praising
each others drooping  pallid petals
       in a looping chain
       of desperate  incestuous validation

as they guard their hard-earned access
and assiduously curated status
                     by never offending
                     the funding powers that be

they're nothing if not mindful
of the primal  career-sustaining need
to bite their tongues if struck by the urge
                     to bite the hands that feed.


Deep   deep down they know
              precisely what they're hiding
and that for all their high-flown
impeccably pointless hive-mind blather
                     and bland  urbane banter

they'll never amount to anything more
       than intellectually inbred ciphers
              and avid in-crowd wankers

which  — as much as they wish
engaging with those in their coteries
       would somehow render untrue —
their penchant for circular jerking
       in laughably lauded  lofty circles
                     will never negate or undo.

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NOTE — each Rerun Monday post will be deleted roughly 3 weeks after its publication, which is why it’s IMPORTANT to — if inclined to “like” and/or “comment” — to do so only in the linked/original post.

BTW, to date, all but 3 of the “rerun” poems are altered/revised versions of the original postings.

Fake trials   false charges  false evidence
       fake liberty   real captivity  real sentences;
false justice   bought judges  rigged system
real enslavement  real surveillance  real prison.

False accusations   false pretexts  false flags
real manufactured hatred  fear and insanity
       real demonization  real satanic depravity.
Fake casus belli   fake foes  fake threats
real wars real gore  real programmed calamity
real agony real grief   real slaughter real death.

Fake progress fake growth  real odious notions
real aesthetic destruction  real social erosion;
fake “greater good”s  real pernicious missions
real rupture of cultures  demolition of traditions
real desecration of nature   real demoralization.
False dichotomies   real rifts  real divisions
real orchestrated chaos  real instigated schisms.

Fake voters fake votes   fake polls fake pols
false leaders  false promises  fake elections;
the pinnacle of habitual  humiliation rituals
       real punch-and-judy  kabuki deceptions.
Fake parties   fake choice  fake democracy
real backroom collusion  corruption  hypocrisy.

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NOTE — each Rerun Monday post will be deleted roughly 3 weeks after its publication, which is why it’s IMPORTANT to — if inclined to “like” and/or “comment” — to do so only in the linked/original post.

BTW, to date, all but 3 of the “rerun” poems are altered/revised versions of the original postings.

Fake grassroots   fake oppo  fake green
       real astro   real co-option  fake scene;
fake protests  fake dissidents  fake crisis
real fools real dupes  fake virtues real vices.

Fake plague  fake enemy fake remedies
       fakedemic   fake disease  fake tests
       real menticide real democide  real deaths.
Real lockstep psy-op  real lockdowns  real iso
real coercion   real compliance  real masks
       real poisons real jabs  fake virus fake vax.

Fake studies  fake research  fake science
       faked papers  faked data  fake results
       false religions   fake saviours  real cults.
Fake erudition   fake info  fake wisdom
fake history   fake ed  false knowledge
       real ignorance  real indoc  real college.

Fake media fake vids   fake scripts fake casts
fake authors fake thoughts  real mindless bots
       fake headlines   fake stories  fake stats.
Fake truths fake views   fake news fake facts
real lies  real deceit   real spin-misdirection
real distortion  real omission  real suppression.

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False virtue   false morality  fake legality
       real injustice  real predation  real venality;
fake concern  fake charity  real hypocrisy
false empathy   real malice  real psychopathy.

Fake honour  fake respect  fake humility
real contempt  real arrogance  real duplicity;
       fake grace   fake patience  fake sapience
              real cruelty  real hubris  real stupidity.
False idols   fake good guys  fake freedoms
real tyranny real tyrants  real evil real demons.

Fake money  fake markets  fake economy
real organized theft  real systemic dishonesty.
Phony protection  through feigned regulation
real stripping of wealth  by stealth  by inflation;
real debt real insolvency real ponzis real fraud
real greed and grift  masquerading as gods.

Fake profile fake voice   fake face  real fakes
       fake sex  fake gender   the faking of race;
fake tolerance  fake inclusion  fake diversity
real conformity-forcing  ideological perversity.
Real intolerance   real exclusion  real delusion
real masterful gaslight  real nurtured confusion.

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"Jack  I've got some bad news" said his Doc
       "and this news may come as a shock."

"Not a chance!" Jack shot back
"I mean  it's hardly news and hardly a shock
that no one has ever outrun the Big Clock."


But sure as even the most sober of gods
are not averse to the odd  innocent giggle

the bad news  was not what Jack thought
but rather  that his uncovered medical costs
              would very soon double and triple

which   in a world of runaway rates
and fees and dues   was also hardly news.

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Everything  is written in stone
till those with chisels are overthrown
       and the tablets that decree
       what is and isn't and what should be
crack     then get smashed and crushed
into granite chunks  and chips and dust.

Today's exceptions are yesterday's rules;
last year's wise men are this year's fools
— a hero one minute  a villain the next;
from good luck charm to unwelcome hex.

All rules  are eventually bent and broken;
all laws  in time are repealed;
              all things give way to change
              — change alone refuses to yield
and in the end  nothing is written in stone
— nothing but change  and change alone.

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Given how whenever
he was in her forbidding presence
how he'd exhibit the very essence
       of cringingly submissive
                     self-effacing behaviour

it was clear it wouldn't take much
              of a stretch of one's cranium
to picture him ditching his shirt
for a blouse   and his trowz for a skirt
the moment he and she got home
                     to their freaky private life

       under strictest instructions
       from she   his dear leader wife
              that if ever discovered
              and subsequently quizzed

that he explain away his dress
(without displaying any shame or guilt)
as nothing but a latent expression
of a closet penchant  for donning a kilt.

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Told to please take a number
and a slumber-friendly seat
       I soon slipped away
       on a stream of shallow sleep

as my waiting-room-drooping
eyelids surrendered
              to the weight of delay
                     and dropped anchor.

But what's worthy of note
              is that when I awoke
I awoke to what I thought
was a dog's rhythmic panting;

to sounds   which believe it or not
were brought about by the rapid
back and forth rubbing
                     of crayons on paper

       as an otherwise silent child
       was immersed in colouring
              within the simple outline
              of a long-tongued puppy.

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Just as the one thing
all hoarders agree to see
              as downright thuggish
is objects  they believe have value
              being looked upon as rubbish

if there's one thing
in this throw-away-crazed world
                     that pack rats can't abide
it's useful things  being viewed as useless
as they're casually cast  like trash to the side.

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Having fallen
for the siren call of convenience
and the lure  of instant feedback and forth

       the addicted-to-all-things-frivolous
       hooked-on-digital-smack
              spellbound packs of oblivious
                                   smartphone rodents

were unaware or cared not a whit
that in the realm of “free” apps
              there's no such thing
                            as something for nothing;

were much too distracted to ask fellow rats
who'd seen their buddies' crushed bodies
       about the cost of free cheese in a trap.

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Ambushed  by a swarm of unseen bugs
besieged   by a gang of microbial thugs
— or so the theory goes —

       it took five   maybe six
       vicious   savagely raspy days
       to rip the cold's grip from your throat

and another runny  nearly-as-nasty eight
filled to spilling with coughing and hawking
and blowing your raw  clogged up nose

to lift the thick fog
that swallowed your noggin
and staunch the bulk of mucus-filled flows.

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When word came through
that their idol had blown into town
his manic fans began hanging around
       any place they supposed he might go

in the fevered hope of touching the cloth
of one they thought  wore the togs of a god


but much to their ire events would transpire
       that would all too soon  grimly expose

that their idol's divinity had been stripped
from the top of his head to the tip of his toes
       as both drunk as hell  and au naturel
              he'd shown up without any clothes.

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What's the deal  with all these fabulous
signally vacuous buzzwords and slogans
              fatuity's foot soldiers wield
                            with such asinine zeal?

What's the deal with all these amorphous
highly ill-defined  doublespeak distortions;
with all these grade-A verbal inversions
                            corruptions  perversions?


What is this wretched word-salad-ready
       fantastically-cutting-edge-empty vocab
if not an impressive collection
of weapons  of both immense imprecision
and hugely effective euphemistic deception

              that the intrinsically parasitic
                            inveterate predator class
              arm their abidingly compliant
              useful-dupe-troops with en masse?

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With regard to genuine learning
— however disconcerting and hard
              and far your ego may fall —

       you learn that what matters
       are the things you learn after
       you learn that you don't know it all

and that not only is coming
even close  to knowing-it-all something
       that you simply can't and so won't

              but you also learn
              that the more you know
              the more you know you don't.

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Blindly guided by her grinding gizzard
a spruce hen   drawn at dawn to a gravel road
was fatally oblivious to the deadly physics
of absorbing the force of a fast moving load.

How could she know  that her natural strategy
of blending in  with the scenery by keeping still
would one day lead to the splattering tragedy
       of her merging with a hard-charging grill?


A victim of incidental  unintended cruelty
of the sort that stems from human ingenuity

how could she know that her timeless tactic
of crossing her fingers  and toes so to speak
and buttoning her beak  in hopes of invisibility
was most unequivocally  inadvisable in traffic
when dealing with speeding cars and trucks?

Marooned  by a suddenly-maladapted habit
how could she know she'd run clean out of luck
on that morning of what would be her last day
       betrayed as she was by a primitive instinct
              to freeze in place to avoid falling prey?


Oblivious  to the lethal physics
of absorbing the force of a fast rolling load
       she was guided by her grinding gizzard
              to peck at a choice stretch of gravel
                     on a little-travelled boreal road.

Ambushed  by an out-of-date evolutionary trait
how could she know she'd been fully remade

transformed  into a northern highway grenade
       that could  at any second
       have its feathery pin pulled
                            reducing her to a burst
                            of bloody guts and plumes?


A curious instance of ignorance is bliss
mercifully   she hadn't the murkiest of clues
about the price she'd pay for a few bits of grit
       plumb unaware that her innate behaviour
       would one day trigger  a catastrophic hit.

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As was shown by one known to speak
deep truth to power    close to the hour
when the Roman Empire was at its peak

       the dispersing of subversive truths
       may well spell the end of your flesh
       as you get yourself nailed to a cross

              but what the life of Christ proved
              was that despite all their might
              crucifiers cannot kill your thoughts.

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1

You took a trip to slip away
from the freezing squeeze of winter's grip
       but not so far as half a day
       down the sweat-stained path
                                   of your sticky stay

you found yourself craving a splash
in an icy bath or pool  to cool yourself down
       as your gauge reached the stage
                     where it read “Too damn hot!”

and you found yourself wishing
you could somehow have brought
some sort of magical travelling cooler
       packed to the gills with soothing blasts
              of bone-chilling cold from back home

to help  your redlining pores counteract
the sweltry heat you were now keen to beat

       but were  nonetheless  forced to abide
       the jolting second you stepped outside
              your air-conditioned world on wheels
              and climate-controlled  hotel bubble

while crickets chirped at speeds
that mirrored your degrees of discomfort
along with your risk  of hyperthermic trouble.


2

The lapping of rum on the shores of your mind
rocked you to sleep  every night you'd unwind
from the stifling heat of the sun-baked day

while the dawns awoke to explosions of song
from tropical birds that went largely unheard
since their trilling notes and thrilling chords
were  despite their power   powerless to soar

above the muffling hum of droning motors
and whirring fans   that paradoxically bore
       that most welcome of wonders:
       the glorious gift of comfortable slumber.

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