Monday Poem

Working Their Mojo
…..—A random report on a staus quo from the wild west


It’s hard to tell if we’re in the midst of a permanent downtick
or just in the throes of what used to be labeled a bad trip
—or if “going-to-hell-in-a-bucket” is apropos

I’ve almost given up wondering if we might eventually enter an uptick
or if we’'ll forever be holding the dry end of our dip sticks
—it’s hard to fathom what future fuel will be making our go go

I’ve just roughed-in a canvas which seems to be-coming a triptych
you need at least that much room to capture anything apocalyptic
—the subject surpasses the margins when painting a really big blow

Bumblers are manning the helm of a fervently split ship
officers even are begging magicians to dream up some new trick
—but ruses of shamans just work in the moment they’re in an illusionist’s show

One priest from Alaska looks good in high heels or mukluks and lipstick
she counts cash on her dogsled after doing her populist us-versus-them shtick
—she quit her governor job when the circus promised her more dough

It seems the captain believes his opponents are innocent apparatchiks
not corporate ass-licks bent on perks in the shape of some very fat checks
—it’s as if the chief’s been dumped in a bank of eyeball-deep snow

And here we are on the ground plowing through trying to manage to stay hip
in a media smoke-screen and stupor brought on by some very slick shits
—they’re engrossed hoarding gold for themselves not sweating while working their mojo

The last will be first in the end, while the first will be getting their wings clipped
so it says in the sayings of seers well known for not keeping their lips zipped
—but that's just a red herring to get everyone last to waltz to the Status Quo

by Jim Culleny, 11/12/10

Mojo: here

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