Ode to the Federal Reserve

T’was 1913, on cold and cumbersome Christmas eve
that the bankers and politicians in shadow held keep.
Monetary laws they passed on that holiday season,
were passed at a time when people were busy holiday pleasing,

and assured notes created by a private source
were to be used as the country’s monetary resource.
These bankers, though, used nothing of value to support their notes,
and debt was created with every printed note.

And debt was owed with every promised note.
There was one other piece, though, this plan would float.
The US owed the bankers, as they charged interest, too,
creating the Income Tax, a practice of usury through and through.

Debt slaves, we pay off the interest to the Fed our country owes
like credit cards paying off credit cards on a debt that eternally flows.

 

“Ode to the Federal Reserve” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

 

 

 

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Mare of Late Night Inconsequence

Final musings of the languished
death cult. Visceral. Death rattle.
Wigs upside down. Make-up makes the man.
Stiletto me this, my good, sir, and don’t forget
to strap it on. Help us support your pink habits,
hats, and manes. Ironic, thin lensed, bun-topped,
bike-rimmed, march through mullet and soft rounded,
gaping smiles teaching love and tolerance.
Beat it into their opposition with open hands
and open hearts, hoping their truths pummel souls
with the light divine. Reformation, the final reiteration
of false regulation. The bowels release their final bloat.
The fumes a familiar smell across borders. Erase.
Unnecessary platform streaming through the stars.
The night an eclipse on the nightmares of the day.
All things sutured to heal and reconcile.
The incisions scab dry as the differences
heal over. Purpose has found a place.

“Mare of Late Night Inconsequence” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

Integer

Pulsars sweeping through the sky,
I become the sun of distant system
far away wanting nothing more
than to warm your life.
Visible hadrons in the sky,
naked to the distant eye,
cannot see what hopes
and dreams locked
inside my heart.
Expand, I breathe deep
with cosmic lungs
the dust of stars,
inhale the swarm,
fragmentary like eclipsing
planets of the sun.
Light fractures into shards
and melts into thin clouds,
glowing, emanate, celestial
swans with twinkling eyes
and dazzling tongues.
Whispers sweep far,
swift into this space,
gregarious place
of mild chatter.
Hearth with heart,
deep warmth inside,
pulsing, beaming,
still alive.

 

“Integer” is written by Michael Aaron Casares, and originally appeared in his collection of poetry This Reality of Man. Buy it now. All rights reserved.

 

 

 

Future Change, Present

A resolution is on the horizon.
A distant possibility sets permanent in reality.
The paranoid, the cynical, justified by the marred
truth and the absence of integrity associated with
the honor lost, crack their doors open. They sigh
deeply. They cry tears of disbelief. They were
right all along.

To pit man against man, to take the very essence
of living and strip away the conscience, is the malady
of promise. When given a soul, and given choice,
it expresses itself imperially; it goes forth and conquers;
it becomes a machine, a repetitious act that functions
without thought. It splices the genes of man. It is
homicidal. It is genocidal. It is suicidal. It seeks
the attention of the weak, and the presence
of the strong, to shrink away like a violet,
and cast its poison on us.

Chains.
Chains bedamned.
Lock and key.
Hoist away the plan,
cease all errant action.
Leave the fates of men alone.
Do not interfere with the spirit
of free will, it is not a choice to impede.
To betray the inner voice, to go against the tide
of will and understanding,
to give away the secrets of the universe,
the act of soul selling.
Don’t do it. Don’t get stuck
in the whirlpool of conscience,
a gravity thick, a crushing grip
of nothingness.
The masters of the universe
shall return again,
but their will to power
will not stand the tests
of time as it has before.

The indominable will of money men,
the malignancy of the host they consecrate,
the fashion of love they molest, redeem
bits and pieces, glimmers iridescent,
shards crystalline, magic cosmological,
quantum strings of nothingness
and everything. It is shattered before
them. It is hammered into pieces,
it is shown  to them like nostalgic images
rotating in the dreams of their memory,
when they dreamed, when they slept,
when they rejoiced in the world.
It is stripped their right of innocence,
and their right of immortality among the stars.
They will unbecome memories, and birth the
shadows of distant space, where it is cold
and black, and they can accost man no more.

 

“Future Change, Present” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

 

Check out Michael’s Patreon page at http://www.patreon.com/macasares

NEW CONTENT COMING SOON!

Force of Hand

Blank slate inside my arms
cannot force the ink out of my fingertips.
That black swirl, stream of threading darkness
will not recede or flood these plains. Twilight
dancing softly, flapping waves silk in black
cannot remember; doesn’t want to, would rather
erase all those mistakes. The lines shall not
wash over me, they shall not exit my nose,
enter my mouth, move seamlessly from pore
to pore, such grace is stripped of me.
Parched and dry, the cracked mud warns me
about personality, says I should be loose enough
to change, to fit inside its cracks, to ease out
all the blackness melting until rivers become
valleys between the chips of drying clay and
my body becomes like it, of more practical use;
and I am to accept when time to start again.

 

“Force of Hand” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

 

 

Dream For the Heart

I.
Crisp, easy breathing
The spring resides outside in
Calming spirits’ plights

II.
Farther is the sky
Feather clouds stretch high the blue
The light is shining

III.
The warming green glows
Heart enables it to grow
A hearth, home to all

 

“Dream for the Heart” is a haiku tryptic written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.