The frustrated Pyro-Anarchist
Fuck!
forgot those bloody matches again!
Robert K. Stephen
The frustrated Pyro-Anarchist
Fuck!
forgot those bloody matches again!
Robert K. Stephen
Lassie
She vanished from the set
never to be seen again
fame and fortune meant little
compared to the delicacies of Beverly Hill’s
garbage cans
Robert K. Stephen
The fight
It is called corporate survival
apologize
prostitute mind and body for THEM
you just might make the suburbs and a a second car
with a mandatory Philipino nanny
I hope you like kissing asses
and if you don’t
kick them in
and
rot
with the rats
Robert K. Stephen
Mama Bravo strikes again or how not to love Boeing Super Max
Laughing gaily they take their seats
out of the hostile freeze into the cheap tequila and sun of Mexico
the plane hurtles down the runway
passengers waiting for those free holiday cocktails
BUT
LURCH
snap, crackle and pop
like steel rice Krispies
No time for screams
What’s left of the bodies
lies steaming on the runway and looks like Mama Bravo’s dropped from the Empire State Building
on a cold winter’s day
Robert K. Stephen
Monday
I lie in fear
waiting
that Monday morning is but an illusion
camouflaged amongst herds of angry zebras
who lay traps
of
joyful Fridays
to taunt its believers
Robert K. Stephen
After the revolution
bodies strewn in the blazing tropical sun
guarded by the stench
but still moist from last night’s rain
the aroma of
rotting
flesh
calls us bugs to the feast
The cult of personality
The cult of personality
for many meant finality
Robert K. Stephen
A dedication to a bus driver that will never know
blank paper makes as much sense
as the music of turnstiles
constant inflow and outflow
eddies of confusion
fail to distract the frustration
and the odious comfort of mesmerized pacing
brings little solace
as
insanity clasps the narrow ledge
of its opposite sister
masses of flesh ooze their way
to compartmentalized hopelessness
a man makes love to his whisky bottle
amidst the red eyed concert crowd who mumble by the greedy chocolate smeared faces of wretches
who annoy mimic telescreened adventures
Eros remains helpless
joylessly suffocating
while Thanatos
gleefully offers an exit
and
frustrated young poets
sit in buses
unable to meet the 5 Year Plan of literature
futilely attempting to explain all
Robert K. Stephen
The great Canadian roast turkey manslaughter
58% of Canadians admitted in a recent poll they left their bubble in 2020 to other homes for a roast turkey Christmas feast
Over 20 Canadian politicians warmed their toes on foreign beaches
This is not what public health officials preache
Hospitals are bursting
Refrigerated tractor trailers and getting ready
Wasn’t your friend and family time so heady
Thank your fellow Canadians for making a Christmas surge
If we knew who you are you would be welcome to be named in a criminal manslaughter purge
Almost all of you will hide your guilt
But if you want entry into the pearly gates
you’ll be forced into never ending waits
Robert K. Stephen
South African Roasted Pigeon Droppings
Time said they were great
Newsweek claimed them a delight
Rolling Stone wrote they were outtasight
Playboy advised them as an aphrodisiac at night
Your neighbour could get you 10% off on a wholesale deal
Good Housekeeping rendered them their seal
National Geographic showed tribesmen scraping them off the rocks
Clearasil used them an ingredient in a cream for zits
but i
personally believe they taste like
the shits
Robert K. Stephen