Sunday, February 22, 2015



By: M. MacMinn

We can do it
wake up the world,
Wake up

It's not with a feel good folk movement
It's with a scolding, with disappointment

You are an inferior child
doused in privilege
spray tanned and sullen

You require endless delusion
bottomless mimosas
and Superbowl Sundays, everyday

You are forgotten to yourself
a creature of gloss and magazines
Pop culture and Pepsi-cola
endless emptiness
and porn downloads

So we're listening
what words do we see

There is a structure and a scent to the color
a feel to the lo-glow of the candles burning

The chant of the songwriter
the antics of the company
and the PSA of sorrow

The hidden humanity
concealed from us all
the strangers of suffering
the celebrators of static

Sunday, February 15, 2015

Note. 3

Note. 3

by: M. MacMinn

Anxious, worked up, severed

scribbling in the dark of the shaking light
abrupt flashes of security and hope