Freedom?

It’s truly wild

When predators yell,

 “Freedom!”

A flock of

Goofy parrots

Squawking brainlessly

Flying aimlessly

Shitting everywhere like it’s good luck

What the fuck?

 

Parrots squawk,

“Freedom!”

Feathered pink and white

Like it’s cute

But truly these vultures

Stalk and circle, desperate

To define the culture

From a questionable narrative

 

Parrot all you want

About a “freedom” you don’t know

Perch on those Hollywood signs

Being mentally and physically tired

Isn’t as glam as a conspiracy theory

Is it?

She’s become your prey

You will stop at nothing

When she is carrion in your beaks

All you will do is repeat

“Freedom!”

 

You always found her flesh

Delicious

Didn’t you?

On Dylan McKay and Luke Perry

The most world-weary 29-year-old

Sixteen-year-old to grace the small screen

An emancipated minor with

Worry lines and crow’s feet

Was the foxiest of Fox’s Gen X zip code

 

Brenda your brunette Betty

Kelly your blonde Veronica

But Dylan was never wholesome, schoolboy

Broken Jalopy Archie

 

To the eye

You were the bad boy

Motorcycle, leather jacket & sunglasses

With an alcoholic past to match

 

Underneath that eyebrow scar

Was the surfer poet

Golden-hearted loyal friend

Who’d help Brandon up off a cliff’s ledge

 

Dylan McKay was the blueprint

For Tim Riggins

Jordan Catalano

Ryan Atwood

Jughead

Even Ray Pruitt

 

From 1991’s next James Dean

Denim, leather, hairsprayed pompadour and all

To 2017’s premiere CW DILF

Denim, weathered, facial scruff and all

And a working actor in between

 

Former castmates, coworkers, neighbors

Paint a picture of a humble, affable

Kind and generous man

May this be your legacy

 

Dylan McKay is immortal

But Luke Perry is gone

A generation is questioning its mortality

This is supposed to happen to our parents’

Teen idols—not ours

 

A Love Song for Demetria Devonne

The skyscraper fell

Nearly gave us a heart attack

But give your heart a break, girl

We’ll help you get back

 

So, you’re back to your old ways

But you promised us no promises

You’re still our unbroken lionheart

Sober or otherwise

 

La La Land is rife with

Temptations, parties, being torn apart

And what’s cool for the summer

Won’t necessarily fix a heart

 

It’s tough to stay on the line

Even those made in the USA can break

It’s stone cold to shame her

She simply made a mistake

 

Daddy issues run deep

Don’t forget it’s hereditary

We’re hitchhikers on her journey

The neon lights can be scary

 

A nightingale who sings her truth

An advocate, a warrior, a survivor

Concentrate on your health and recovery

Our love is only forever

 

Skyscraper fallen,

Confident you’ll rebuild

 

A poem for Demi Lovato, using a song title in every line

On David Schwimmer as Robert Kardashian, Sr.

I think about this a lot

OJ Simpson’s trial started

A few months after

Friends premiered

 

Kim Kardashian is on that

Gen X/Gen Y cusp

She was the perfect age

When Friends was all the rage

 

So, while young Kimberly

Was dressing like Rachel Green

Her daddy, Robert Kardashian Sr.

Was defending OJ

 

David Schwimmer played

Robert Kardashian Sr. in

American Crime Story:

The People v. OJ Simpson

 

How weird was it

For Kim to know

That Ross Gellar

The thrice-divorced paleontologist

And nobody’s favorite Friend

Was playing her dad?

 

There was Ross Gellar

Begging Cuba Gooding Jr.-as-OJ

To not shoot himself

In a replica of Kim’s

Young teenage bedroom

JTT posters and all

 

There was a gorgeous young actress

Playing 14-year-old Kimberly

While Ross-as-Robert explained

That “Uncle Juice” was innocent

And warned his children

About the price of fame

 

Maybe Robert and Kris Kardashian

Were the original Ross and Rachel

But in reverse

I can just picture Kris insisting,

“We were on a break!”

When Khloe was born

 

I wonder if Kim and Kanye

Watched The People v. OJ?

I doubt it

But I bet they do watch

Friends reruns on Netflix

To relax sometimes

 

This loose poem is inspired by NY Mag's The Cut's feature, I Think About This A Lot

The Daydream Femme Fatale

The hook-nosed beauty queen of South Haven

Pluck my eyebrows down to nothing

I am all platinum hair and red lips

Lips, those thin lips,

Overdrawn, exaggerated

It’s not enough

Stuff cotton balls behind them

Like a silver screen siren

Or fill em up

At a Lisa Rinna gas pump

Being in a band can be trying

 

The 90s were your primetime

Tori, PJ & Bjork

On the cover of Q

Like Hayworth, Hepburne and Hepburn

(Courtney, the obvious Monroe)

But you,

You were Gloria Grahame

A dark star

Unforgettable in noir