Before the Shit Hits the Fan

You

Just give us what you want,
Word-slinger—

But don’t give us what
You have to give us,

Give us what we want.

Dire Straits

As if in a stupor, the doves do nothing
But reel in air in front of the fledglings,

Whereas the hawk-like crows fly straight
Into the heart of the matter.

On a Sentence by Santayana

Know that

Its essence lies
Not in how

It is delivered,
But how

It is received by the minions
Condemned to repeat it.

Parnassian

You have not yet begun
The assault on the mountain

And already the air is making you giddy.

Look Homeward, Angel

Remember?

When you were good,
He’d let you stay

Up all night
And raise holy hell.

When you were bad,
He’d douse the lights,

Put you under
A dank stairwell.