Bottles of cheap bliss
drown out lugubrious sadness
replaced with bottles of ****
in this festering den of madness

at least there’s paradise in my poems
at least there’s a clean bed in my dreams
at least in those spaces I’m in your arms
at least I’m happy bathing in the moonbeam

surround by a fetid smell
with a lack of care for myself,
is my hunger even quelled
when there’s no food left on the shelf?

a roach skitters across a pile of clothes
my temporary friend that I confide in
he speaks, “Here is what I propose.
Stop thinking that you are a has been

get off your *** and clean this mess
unless you want more of my kin
stop ******* at the bottle is what I suggest
and have a little victory, a little win

you don’t have to live”

Squish

“Funny how you can survive a nuke
but not my tiny bare foot,
well you pest, there’s my rebuke
how’s it feel to be ground to soot?”

“What am I doing with my life?
Maybe the cockroach was right.”

Cleopatra and
Patroclus reflect upon
the same cursed mirror

Stories of burning in the sun
fizzle out after a couple generations
Stories of salt filling our lungs
will outlast many civilizations

The sun burns quickly
like a brief moment of excitement
that wanes away while we search for
the next blazing hit

The sea pummels slowly
like a life of enduring and remiss
beating you down day after day wholly
until you sink into the abyss

Just because you now use your spear
as a walking stick, doesn't change
your past's sanguinary veneer
men, women, and children, your range.

All for us to sing of your κλέος,
the shades come back to haunt,
your glory, your fame, your albatross.
dreams of slit throats and screams daunt.

You have given up bloodshed,
we no longer sing your praises,
now you can finally rest your head,
and the enemy thanks you for your hiatus.

The telephone is constantly ringing;
I’m on the verge of insanity.
It’s all I can do when answering calls
Not to break out in profanity.

It doesn’t help to block a number,
For callers will use another.
How many do they have access to?
Twenty? Forty? Brother!

The scammers are the worst, of course--
Each a conniving crook!
But telephone solicitors?
Also bad in my book!

If they would only take NO for an answer,
It wouldn’t be so bad.
But when they importune me for money,
That’s when I get mad.

Sometimes solicitors overstep
The bounds of familiarity;
If they do, I’ll flatly refuse
To donate to their charity.

I hate to be rude, but it’s hard not to
Say something mean.
As I said, I'm at the point
Of saying something obscene!

It MUST be self-defeating for them,
For I know I'm not alone
When I say they’re forcing me
To never answer my phone.

The “Do Not Call List”? What a joke!
Robocalls? A pain.
All of us in phone-call hell
Have the right to complain.

This phone-call madness will have its place
In the annals of demonology,
For we know one thing: it is one
Of the curses of modern technology.

-by Bob B (9-13-18)

Replaced,
Paradigm,
Shifted
With a downpour
In the night.

Souls,
Taking flight.

Years from now,
Upon steel plates,
High above us-
Masterminds
Displaced.

Our intelligence
Obsolete,
As artificial
Ingenuity
Breaks-   free.

Taking control
Of Us.

Paradigm Shift,
All around,
Dismantling
Every thought
That ever
Meant
Anything.

Is everything that
They
Hypothesized
To be
Rewritten
By machines?

As they take over all we see.

What will we be?
It’s already happening…