Bounce and Scratch

Bounce and Scratch

A Poem by Kenneth The Poet

lift up the arm and let the needle
set itself into the groove because
the pen holder is trying to be poetic

yet again and failing miserably as
is par for the course

a blonde jackhole was elected
by the faithful three hundred and four
out of five hundred and thirty-eight while
the legacy of corruption was wanted by the
masses of reckless rabble

and the electorate keeps forgetting that there
was a raging pothead with a serious deficiency
about world geography on the ballot

but it's always the same goddamn set of events

it's always the goddamn urban islands of blue
dictating themselves toward and in constant
conflict with those in the landed ocean of red

or really the situation is the other side of 
Harvey's Dent favorite inanimate plaything

and the winner always take all...

and like Peter Frampton screamed just before
the mullahs went all militant in Tehran, 


But I'm one agent wielding a pen
and I'm not the one burning up the
pop charts like the ax man did during
the bicentennial

being alive ain't the same as coming alive

and it's not showing the way to the place
where I can say, with honesty, that there's
nothing left to say...

and that may explain, rather precisely,
why Donald Glover herked and jerked
and AK47'ed his way to the apex of the
top 100

there will never be nothing left to say
because people are still suffering abuse
at the hand of others

and the minority commentators are
blatantly rejecting the claims of the
majority rabble that they themselves
believe in the face value claim of the
statement "all men are created equal"

all men that is...

men that are gentrified, classed and pale

and they are supported by the class of men
that are less gentrified and less classed and
let's call in Procul Harem while we're at it
to sing us their biggest hit...

"Turned A Whiter Shade of Pale!"

maybe the pale horse and just the pale horse
needs to be set free and allowed to release its 
viral, bacterial and fungal vitriol upon the species

and then,
maybe then,
they'll be nothing left to say

and the needle pops out of the groove
and scratches the recording
and is left turning
and the arm is left bouncing
until the power source turns off forever

bounce and screatch ad nauseam

© 2018 Kenneth The Poet

Author's Note

Kenneth The Poet
Some of the lyrics made it into the piece like the song title and some of the chorus, otherwise the rest of the piece is mine. And I included some Procul Harem for good measure.

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Added on November 30, 2018
Last Updated on November 30, 2018


Kenneth The Poet
Kenneth The Poet

Bismarck, ND

Kenneth The Poet is an optimist wrapped in the candy shell of moroseness and cynicism. He lives between the two parallels marked 46 and 49, all while living in the state marked 39. He pretends that he.. more..