On occasion, I would run into someone
who inevitably introduces himself
as so and so from Marketing
which triggers a lingering curiosity within
to wonder and ponder the following question:
“Can you dodge bullets from point blank?”

A valid question, I might add, as those in the profession
have invoked the supernatural by selling their own soul
and having been deceived, deceive in turn
as if to gain it back, or purchase it from Hades
with the money made from molding truth into agendas –
Can you dodge bullets from point blank?

Those who can turn our cranial masses into slogan sockets,
spin their flaws into opportunity,
convince and lead a legion against brand X –
that much power borderlines sorcery
and in this magic realm you built from lies
Can you dodge bullets from point blank?

As we stand here, you are scanning
at what seems to be an easy mark
but within my soul is screaming,
shouting warning after warning
that your hand is on your dagger…
Can you dodge bullets from point blank?

My politeness keeps the question silent,
keeps the inquisitive mind inquiring,
keeps the secret question burning –
sets the trigger finger firing,
answer found, as soulless body dying, to the question
“Can you dodge bullets from point blank?”

Halfway between here and there,
madly in lovekin, two weary wanderers
roll off the 10 doing 80 at about 11 –
whose time, I don’t care to remember
now nor ever for that matter.

Doesn’t matter where time stands still –
those movie western looks with dusty roads
and matching moonlight makes one howl
in this Barstow to Arizona
holiday extravaganza known as Blythe.

Yes, the must-stop spot…you know the type:
Unless you’re towing a tanker full of gas
with a convenient porta-potty and
a caffeinated beverage dispenser,
you stop in Blythe. Stop and grumble in Blythe.

Stop and stumble, slipping in slow-motion
on unmopped bathroom tile while she fills the tank
with two hundred and forty dollars per gallon
of regular unleaded, gold coated, diamond encrusted,
how-else-could-you-explain-it gasoline.

Yes, Blythe — where your bean burrito sans onions
actually has extra onions and extra-friendly banter
from suburbian ghettoids. Yes, Blythe –
where the lines are longer and stranger than
Splash Mountain on a summer afternoon.

Halfway between there and here, still
madly in lovekin, two wary wanderers
roll onto the 10 doing 80 at 20 past 11 –
gladly lifting off from that alien planet.
Hyperbole? Try me. Have fun in Blythe.

I could not be a marketeer — so self-assured and focused on
believing a lie spun two moments ago from a cheap concoction
of ego and pride and determination to defraud.

So determined to manipulate, a diplomatic deception artist
armed with sticks and carrots, blackmail,
buttons best left unpressed,
salt for wounds otherwise left undressed,
for what? For nothing more than gain.
Some ruse pretending to ease a concealed pain,
befriending publicly, betraying privately,
a happy parasite, a bastard prick,
annoying tick who thinks he owns the entire dog.

A subtle case of assault and battery
with words of praise and flattery so shallow
but surprisingly effective. Springing for
a caffeine bribe and a side of empty promises
complete with appeals to greed and pretty rainbows,
just buying time and drawing nearer.

Drew a dagger in the process right along with
the occasional lip service and subliminal messages
to turn one’s back for a more convenient stabbing –
the ever-friendly marketeering grifter thief,
the quintessential money-worshipping scumbag idiot
ego circle-jerking ringleader mastermind expert on
being sincerely insincere. I could not be a marketeer.

Are you nothing more than nothing –
Cannon-fodder, poster child of failure,
Alienated outcast, evil
Rebel trouble-maker, dark imposing figure?

Lost an edge, convinced of being
Less than what you really are
By (cough) “Suppressing Figures” Super-Secret
Personal agendas — depressed aspiring Superstar

Wronged and vengeful vigilante
Selfish and self-righteous bastard masked
In meekness hidden in the daylight hours –
Your passive-aggressive id and ego perpetually taxed.

Those visions of a brighter day,
Of “Shock the World” and “justice served” are good
But kindred soul, the means by which you seek
These goals are heavily misunderstood.