Trespassers


 

 

 

 

 

 

The night highway
a long unending light

a lucky charm against
superstition of the unborn folk

trespassers on the road
carrying darkness in their clothes

©Dean J. Baker

https://writingsofdeanjbaker.wordpress.com

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Committees Of The Congratulatory


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In this pigsty of dreams, appetite
declines to seem while poverty bites
off chunks of soul shrunk to small
delights

You know what everything costs,
unable
to guess the worth of what’s lost,
calling love praise and lust
to keep you from the dirt and dust

Waiting for the real thing to come
if ever in those measures,
those metaphors of dumb pedestrians,
guilty bystanders
flatliners whose creed and belief

Remain linear and iron-bound, devoid
of depth though filigreed with
the ornaments of hypocrisy: the
significant few
who hate themselves yet seek

To be seen, unobserved between
the leaves and trees
invisibly profound in committees
of the congratulatory: the guarantee
redundancy amid temporary acclaim

©Dean J. Baker

86 pages, Celestial Migrations In The Empire

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Karl Marx Had A Party


 

 

 

 

 

Karl Marx had a party
where everyone went as
somebody else: there were
no favors. Engels paid
for everything as usual: we want
for nothing to want, no thought.

In the Ponzi scheme of graduating
murder, sell the ghost of
contrived cornpone for those
without desire, minus actualities
to which all
worthies must aspire.

Minus gods and outright
war, uncivil tones peaking
in descriptive decay, this
is your sentiment, your
chosen voice for what
you express against.

You compete in suffering,
announce plans to
conquer all foreign, alien
invaders: only your skin
is listening in
for the side to choose you’re against.

Against the hunter’s drying
rack, highest prayer and
devotion is for the Fifth Amendment.
The littered debris of the
homeless suggests again
you are the ghosts of sweet resentment.

©Dean J. Baker

121 pages, $12.99, ebook $2.99 – https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1091177414

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from Celestial Migrations In The Empire ‘Casting Runes Consisting Of The Landscape’


Born a second time on stones, over
grown cold and rough; stunted
self-regarding souls
bare moss hung on the indeterminate
hillside, while above or below, world

Carries on, you wake no longer weightless
unloved, at most a familiar comfort
paralyzed or a ghost unseen; invisible,
deluged by complaints,
groaning over the abyss, its larger unwillingness

To hold onto anything you celebrate,
polishing the bones
of flesh hieroglyphs telling the same
story: casting runes consisting of the landscape,
to witness or map never enough

© Dean J. Baker

Anywhere… from Petty Gods Of Apparent Decline


 

 

 

 

 

 

You can be murdered anywhere, but
you’ll always die in Congress or in Parliament.

From a lack of care or indifference
to what’s said and done by everyone expecting
salvation be a ladder to Paradise, until
the stairs to another life declining repair
prove they lead nowhere but upside down.

Change will come eventually you think,
forgetting the war ongoing in everything
where slaughter is observed religiously,
statistics carved in counterfeit
register complaint surreptitiously proud.

To serve the perverted ego’s lazy appetite
for the curve of constancy, no matter what
it takes to frame familiar certainty:
mistaken for the truth still boasting loudly
for release from the cage of incessant proof.

In our recalcitrant lives something despairs,
training us for extinction as the prize.

©Dean Baker

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I Used To Loiter Endlessly


 

 

 

 

 

 

I haven’t felt good forever
I’m not going to tell you about it
outside the realms of poetry
and the women
plus the rhythms of music, there
isn’t actually anyone who cares
to hear the sad dystopian tale
of an artistic loneliness since you
decided we share the same problem
but separately

not all of this could be known
not all of this could be known together
not any of this would be shown
by the solitary sharing
the fact that somewhere along
the way
a passenger fell off the train
beside the river I have not visited since
when I used to loiter endlessly
on the lookout for the arrival of beauty

© Dean Baker

-excerpt from In Riparian Fields, 109 pages In Riparian Fields Ebook –

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