centennial sentries guarding our shores

centennial sentries guarding our shores,
ignoring the snores of cinnamon natives,
naive to the alien technology that fears
the century's end, hoarding the borders
of sinful men ignoring the morning.
The snoring bordom of economies,
ecology and echoing the beliefs
of relief agencies and secret agents.

Monday

Psychotic ramblings of a two-legged man
trapped in the haze of a working life
ordained the damn crap of daily
rituals and hypnotic paychecks flapjacked
and canned like forgotten relatives
or sailors out at sea without a map,
berzerk with rage at the weekend
spent working -- there are men
spent by seven day weeks topped with
leeks caught on shore, hoping the boat
doesn't leak.

Suntanned dandelions under fire

Suntanned dandelions under fire
when the days were shorter,
dancing in the breeze of overseas fire,
undone button of democracy
trapepd in a piece of rallyberry pie,
I watch you stoop, pooped,
after sleeping in the weeds
of youthful yappery in a teenage factory,
modelled after a twenty-something
fingernail polish remover.
The revolver slipped from the slipper-
wearin' man who cachooed the fireman.
Put down the words while they're able,
the fiery torch of criticism,
we should read our own reviews
for the news of our survival,
vital to the few in power,
while we sleep softly in the flowers.