Lampooning warlords

Do they need a giant astreoid to hit their gardens
to wake them up by sitting on their chests,
black, cold and heavy
to strip them off their soft, warm winter beds
to undress their souls which then to be catapulted
into dark pits in the sky which can not be compared
in size to those they push down kids and ordinary people
minding their own business
in markets, farms and floor tables

Do they need their palaces to be built in cemeteries
with large windows and no curtains
Do they need an ominious illness to take their children
and to be debarred from love of all sorts

Do they need a great famine to hit their territories
hunger and thirst to wade into their cellars
from all cardinal directions,
which their index fingertips travel to daily
dancing on sophisticated maps,
so that their mouths and limbs
have no more power to give orders
for additional troops and arms deals

Do they need a sudden offensive by aliens from the space,
to stop their cruel, unjust killings,
who would suck up all the bullets and melt their missiles
by hand.

Purple Dress

Like moist steps of a distant rain,
deliberately but slowly approaching,
send shivers down ants' spines
purple satin dreams
wrap around the waist
of my waking life
whirling and shining
bright
becoming gleeful light
filling the torso of your cup

here, one for the road!
rub your palms together and wait
for hope's homecoming