a revelation

                                                             ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM

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Poems written on legal pads
Hold the smell of red babies
That is a conspiracy of
The plenty who need just enough of
A song and dance to convince themselves
It’s all for the best

The words seem unable to escape
The impending invasion even on the
Outskirts of the station where
They drop to the page
Embedded in beads of sweat
Having just been pressed into

Service as the unassuming Trojan
Horse latitudes we were warned about
Cooling now
Resinating now
In a Bay breeze
Knowing nothing of
wars
politics
or
Lucasfilm trying ever so desperately
To sell a smoking lounge revolution

How much does it hurt knowing
The poem feels more alive on a legal pad
Then in a thousand million units of

Bled product distributed through
The fickle conscience of the
Dwindling conspiracy of plenty
Needing just enough song and dance