you've stopped hiding your poems in "poetry". hooray! i should be doing more of it. i want more of this, the theme of hypocrisy is in title only, and/or self-hypocrisy (telling yourself to believe the lie) has much more it wants you to say. they called pete townsend the seeker...you might dig deeper, and let it flow.

Yes, Don... I am merely going to echo what everyone else said - nothing original in my bag... Good job! Hope that your moods will be few in between. But hey, who cares, if you get shit like this out!

Fav lines:

- Silly saints all rolled up in tube tops...
- And hope that I get crushed by something bigger than ...
- And fuck all those relatives that want to see me on the holidays

I haven't read your previous posts, but I think this poem could *benefit* from some verbal constriction. There are some clever images, but mostly, as is common w/ blank verse, the words seem chosen at whim. It's a rant with line breaks.

I love the 'silly saints rolled up in tube tops', and I think some of the imagery would work well in a short story, but IMO it isn't tight enough to warrant a poem. What's your crystalline thought, what mental satori are you leading the reader to? Why a canker sore, and not a hemorrhoid? To what end do you explaint celestial karma? What is celestial karma, and how can it be exploited? Why not fuck the Air Force, or the boy scouts? Why the rhetorical questions stuck in the middle? Couldn't the reader be encouraged to ask them himself, instead of reading them explicitly? You bring up the 'precipices' metaphor. . . and then drop it in favor of being crushed (by something big, not by something small.) What are you actually trying to express?

Hypocrisy, yes, I know, that's the title. . . but I don't think there's enough subtlety here to provide the mental 'aha' poetry is uniquely capable of engendering. Why not an essay? It reads like angry teenager diary verse, or Zach de la Rocha. (Who is a fun thinker at times, but chooses a medium where his words don't have to be elegant. Thank goodness.)