THE ANGRY WORLD: Owner-X, Cosmic Criminal

Drunken revelers soiled the city streets

polluted bloodstreams

got them acting like

scattering ants avoiding a child

Celebrating three decades ago

when cable news extinguished God

to appease politicians who prayed for our worship

I stuff my backpack with contraband

Bukowski, Bradbury and The Bible

A rusty revolver and damaged ammo


by a faceless Interplanetary Tribunal

I write my dead father a letter

Tough to understand certain words

since they outlawed speaking your mind

Down a fire escape, onto the demolished avenue

A death drone dives from a sky filled with soot

Disintegrates a woman singing on the corner

Earth Penalty Code 4214.36

A pink shirt proclaiming  Elvis is King

Her ashes flood my nose like swarming gnats

The burnt stench of Freedom

Avoiding the mechanized mobile prison skiffs

I slither up to Penn Station Crematorium

and silently  bribe the last human cop walking a beat

A black market data drop of Mahler and Zevon

He opens a dented steel door with a paternal warning

Avoid those things on the old subway platforms

Alien Creepers that enjoy the taste of human flesh

I break  through mutant spiderwebs in dark hallways

Urine smell keeping  ghosts at bay

Heading east down the deserted railroad tracks

Blood stains on the pummeled concrete walls

I am on a quest for death or sanctuary

Interminable years before this moment

On a leaky hospital barge in a polluted river

The State branded me Owner-X






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