junkmail oracle

featured poets & artists


chris kendalls

he is out there, somewhere.

Jumping the fence

Always lay down to go to sleep
Was never sure in the morning though
What side of the bed I'd wake up on
You're supposed to be a certain way
But there are split personalities

Try to appease one set of people
End up offending another
And no one I'm cool with
Is anyone people think that
Perhaps I should be to

Guess I'm standing in the mirror
Trying on different clothes
In a dressing room in somewhere
In any town, any state America
Looked at the attendant

Told her I had like 20 items
She said I have to have five or less
I said that I always carry 15
I've been shoplifting but, hint
They just don't know it yet

She said that she could relate
She has a full wardrobe
Unused interests on the floor
Let me put a bird in your ear
"you know being black and all"

"you're only really allowed two"
"and you better be careful"
"what you wear and how and"
"exactly who around"
so what the fuck is that??

To be a free country
We are anything but free
Because we ostracize individuals
We're indifferent to change
No one wants to be enlightened

No one thinks outside the box
No one even knows exactly who
Or what they really are
Seems like yesterday when
We'd laugh at each other

You didn't pay enough for your clothes
You don't know how to put it together
Life is a perfect package
And if you don't look perfect
Perhaps you're fucked up in someway

And if you're fucked up
Obviously not a whole and complete
Individual, think that perhaps
We shouldn't even talk to you
When you get your shit right

Come back tomorrow or whenever
All professional for my interview
Purple label to impress these imperial
Royalty of a management in personnel
With my $2000 suit on

A $400 dress shirt and so on and so forth
To get the job and they fuck around
Laundering money in the break room
Paying people not to work
So they don't blow their fucking whistles

Tell the government what's going on
I can do better by myself
Throw this money at the crowds below
Free myself of these fucking chains
Shackles to control my existence

See the real me exposed
Me and my fucked up friends
That I never wanted you to know about
With all of our fucking problems
Just impacting a fucked up world


Vacancies at the hotel

Another day in the metropolis
The cubicles are empty
The seats vacant and the streets
Are quiet, perhaps another
Holiday, if you exist and you

Are witnesses to this, what spirit
Comforts you, what faces do you
Imagine are there in your isolation
Friends & families & families of friends
You imagine they are with because

You are in your state, and
Tomorrow it changes, back
To normalcy, but for whom?
They did not think about you
Take your turn to look

Through life's window & be
Stuck outside in the cold,
Eating mayonnaise from a
Broken jar, the cloud in
Front of your face, can you

Hide disappointment well?
Take for granted
Continuity relationships are
Meaningless until they are
In their absence, I always differ

The few times there are no comforts
Found in your material goods & anyone
Can look like anything and be in any
State what matters, being there
We hide ourselves 345 days

Of the year the only truth
On days like these, when
Traditional life stops and we
Enter this alternative
Existence which is as real as

It gets. Try it again next year
If you are still alive, it gets
Better with time, trust me
Clean the wound from your hand
Go out and enjoy yourself

home page


copyright deep cleveland llc, all rights reserved
comments: deepcleveland@hotmail.com