The Rip Post                                                                                              


Last Dance
We all think we
know one another,
but how can that be
when we scarcely
know ourselves.

Fret not, my child,
for the wind is
in the forest,
carrying with
it the seeds
of redemption.

Like Green Stamps
and lava lamps,
our notions are
quaint and remote
in time and place.

Memories cascade
with neither hope
nor grace, and
I cannot even
recall the sight
of my own face.

Pastoral interludes
were the best we had
count your blessings
it was never as bad
as what befalls the
billions born unto
less fortunate lands.

But mind the store,
and the garden, too.
Labor in your vineyard,
we're beasts in their zoo.
Pestilential presidential
edicts can in a swoop
declare our words
to be game fair,
bringing ultimate despair.

Dicky's got his shotgun,
Condi's got her boots
Chimpy's laying on hands.
Are you in chaoots?

Get it all out
in the open,
if you dare,
no secrets
go unshared.

Liberation is
but a step away.
"No direction home."
     ---Jack Oakes

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