Fences are the warp and woof
of our communal life together.
They protect us from each other.
They hold us in and contain us.
They keep us thinking we're different.
And we are.
But only where fences matter.
No where else.
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Among the Breeders
There are so many teeth. They poke
Steel fingernails into the sunlight
And surround their drone whose crib
Aims for precision dreaming.
Those shrieks, toothpicks from a scarecrow’s
Grizzled smile, dice up what’s left
Of brains, as if the divine butcher
Were preparing another kosher meal.
Without bars on every window
And across each threshold, the mad
Might escape. The guy next door
Has plenty of fertilizer,
But will it blow up?
[Disposable Poem September 17, 2013]
Dr. Mike
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