It could be an oxymoron
Like Decaf coffee
Or democratic racism
Or just words on a page
A wall
A tattoo on an elbow
When you draw on rocks
What does that change?
You, I think
There are ghosts in the machine
Or smoke blown up an arse
Perhaps this is too political for a morning sip

I am lost in this country
Only for old men
Complex like milkfat
Begging to be allowed
To do what I want with my own stuff
To be complex
To love and lovingly disagree
To rest in Psalm 23
To think in lines of poetry
Perhaps this is too sexist for a morning sip

I am tired of blatant disregard
Of being unequipped for the job
you just told me to do
As if you had the authority
to tell me that your way is the right way
Caulk the hole in that wall
And pretend it is pristine
But you work with hands of hammers
Judging as you bring them down
Perhaps this is too corporate for a morning sip

I don’t like being lied about
Especially by the self-deceived
You don’t have to like
You don’t have to agree
But at least have the balls to tell the truth about me
Someone digested stupidity
Wrote it down, like that made it true
I have to laugh
Perhaps this is too unforgiving for a morning sip