The Renegade

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The sweet scent of freshly-cut grass, and the familiar groan of a nearby lawn mower were like fine wine to my nostrils and music to my ears.

After a five-year stretch on the inside, living on the run is freedom, but also hell. A Darwinian existence. One step worse than death.

With no change of clothes, I stink from my own piss, shit, and sweat, and when I sleep on the ground ants and blowflies crawl on my face—thinking I’m dead the blowflies try to lay eggs on my flesh.

I’m running low on food, only eating what I can steal from stores or scavenge from dumpsters.

My drinking water comes from a building’s downspout or from a nearby drainage ditch.

I’m wanted by the long arm of the law—for escaping custody for a murder charge that I didn’t commit.

Some say it may be a better life in jail, so I should to turn myself in.

But what do they know?

Certainly it would be better than this life I have now.

But this way is my way, and this way, even if I die on the streets and my soul is carried across the great divide by a flock of crows, it’s better than giving my body and soul to the cowardly FBI.

I’m like a Coyote, escaping capture,  always on the run, but at least I’m free.

– Poet Stoker

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A Foggy Night On An Abandoned Wharf

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Be mindful on your midnight stroll near the waterfront cool and dark, an inland fog like a dungeon of mist will leave you barren, desolate, and stark. Be careful where you place your feet, many wharf rats you will meet, they’ll be dragging maggoty fish heads into holes, or doing trapeze acts upon the slimy poles. Be mindful on your wayward walk, it’s easy to slip and fall and drown in the murky dock. ~ Poet Stoker

What If

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What if in the future being right was wrong?

What if good was actually bad?

What if, in some futuristic war, ten million animals and humans died and, because the world was so over populated by then, it was thought upon as a good thing..wouldn’t the planet have more room to breath?

What if zero was the highest number..then what friend or follower number would social media use to addict our children?

What if blowing-up yourself and innocent others in the name of religion was really not a terrorist act, but a way to cleanse the earth of those who have too much, and think too little of smaller countries by rewarding greed, using government corruption to get rich, and then overcompensating those who are destroying the natural balance of the earth’s crust by digging for oil which is no longer there?

What if death was right and life was wrong?

What if both heaven and hell were here and now—and all of this planet’s beautiful life forms were merely cancerous growths in disguise, eating, breathing, defecating and spreading, until finally in the end consuming the hand which fed it?

~ Poet Stoker