Poem for Patriarchy

Bitter, bloated bloodshot

eyes are the last thing


you will see looking down

at you.  Men chained to meat hooks,


darling dears just dangling

there.  Lepers surrounding each


blood crusty body quivering

with webs whispering


whistles of waterless poor

people. I walk in


with various sizes of canes.  Who

is the Daddy now, bitch?


For Wicked Stands

Justice is to not forget

what the State deems


forgettable.  Make the injustice

bow in cowardice.  Tell the money


men their ideas of value, of worth

mean nothing to anyone other


than them. We still have

voice. Rise to possess your narrative.