Black smoke rises
In a February field
Looms on the horizon
Like it’s Bethlehem steel
The Senate holds a hearing,
they’re not hearing your appeal
But Alan Shaw is counting thralls
and oozing class appeal
He says “don’t pick your blisters,
it’s just best to let ‘em peel”
as he has his culpability repealed
I Felt the lightning,
Waited on the thunder,
Never heard the peal
Turns out it was buried under
Fog that’s dense enough to FEEL
Fog that lowers down
Like Alan’s crown
When he secretes his shpeel
& Donates City Council each a couple thou
to stop their squeals
I’m for having Mr. Shaw
divided like the seven seals
Scattered round the globe
Painstakingly concealed
He and every other walking clot of greed, congealed,
and the corporate machinery
Of which, he’s but a wheel
Strip it down to parts
and keep it safely under heel
Otherwise, we’ll never heal.
Otherwise we forfeit every blossom
For its toxins will not yield.
Otherwise, we’re helpless, watching,
all we’ll hear is muffled sobbing
overlaid across the gentle whir of the projector reel
Were I any saner by their standards
I’d be glad to hang the banners,
as it stands, I spurn the flag
and shun the standard,
I defiantly reject the real.
I reject the will of Federal terrorists
who throw the word ‘Democracy’ around
like it’s the holiest protector’s shield
standing quietly while we allow society
to wrap itself in piety,
when half cannot afford a meal
We are minnows wielding class-action lawsuits
searching for some justice in the court of eels
Heard the portcullis lock
heard the jury lick its chops
Heard the suit was dropped.
Heard the minnows reached a deal.
They’re Happy Ever After
In a February Field
details of the settlement
were not revealed.
Now, if you ask Alan Shaw,
that’s a comeback story
Where he rises from the ashes
in the afterbirth of corporate glory
One in which the residents of Palestine
who leave
are coming back to see
the rainbow sheen
that sits atop the creek
disguises something gory
Dead fish in the riverbed,
like boulders in a quarry
Dead deer in the forest glen
but they are far from Norfolk’s quarry
We are what they’re seeking to reduce,
all too eager to reuse,
and then recycle once we’re forty
We supply a labor force
that law forbids aborting
That’s if all should go according
If you hold a politician’s hand,
It’s fascism you’re courting
And that’s the fight that gets me out of bed
to keep recording
That’s the fight that opens up my eyes
every morning.
To Chloride on the sunrise,
& CNN reporting
that it’s safe to drink the water
if you don’t know what’s been forming
That it’s best to trust the experts,
who ignore the blatant warnings
Disregard the evidence you’re currently absorbing
Norfolk’s awfully sorry,
and their profit’s fucking SOARING
The duo of Artist Named You and Sol Galeano present their debut together, a conceptual and adventurous modern R&B album. Bandcamp New & Notable Jul 26, 2022
Three renditions of “Snowflakes in July” explore all aspects of the song’s stunning beauty, including a mind-blowing 17-minute live version. Bandcamp New & Notable Aug 15, 2020