That #@#$%! Season Again.

The Dunderheads are rising,
up on both horizons,
Left and Far Right,
leaving me fearing greatly,
this coming political season.

Ware the Dunderheads roaring,
their battle cries strident
against the soft words
the Centrists all speak,
drowning out intelligent thoughts.

This is the season,
when the political cyclones
gather in their names
to entertains a few,
and sicken the rest.

You know this season,
by the counter's ticking
as we log cases
of "Foot in Mouth"
and "Pants Spontaneously Combusting".

Sadly, this yammering crowd
takes to damned long
to thin out enough
for reasonable folks' work
to choose be easy.

Yeah, mock me, gang.
But really, I'm right.
The earliest contenders in
are rarely the ones
who survive to end.

So, hear my call
ye of the words,
mockers of foolish actions,
and sane society members,
and unleash the Sarcasm.

For they resist Truth,
prove lacking of Honesty,
lack all moral Courage,
and worst of all,
can't take a Joke.

So smack them around,
until they speak truth,
or bow out fast,
lest we really unload
with more than Sarcasm.

For I have loaded
Double Ought Truth Shot,
soaked in Sour Sarcasm,
and carried by sabot
carved from pure Satire.

And that is just the first rounds, the rest? Oh, much more psychically damaging to fragile political hack egos.
27March2015 - Dyfedd Rex

My personal politics prove problematic.

Too many feel I must toe

the lines of the Two Parties

or be just another apathetic voter.

This leaves me convinced others are

but fools who dance to drums

beat by demonic beasts who control

the world through their strange rhythms.

I rarely speak of them, lately.

Tired of ridicule over walking paths

others cannot see as valid beliefs.

But, they are my firm convictions,

not those of shadowy kettle masters,

who seek unison of oar strokes

to drive forward their own agendas,

making others feel they are theirs.

I hold that we have failed

the promise of the American Dream.

We lack the spine to choose

true servants to the Civil Order,

setting over ourselves a foul over-class,

Masters who speak with forked tongues. 

Mine is the way of Conservation,

of faith, not just petty wealth.

I am a social libertarian, and yet

I feel the need for accountability.

Mine is the view of few,

none out there hold many beliefs

that call me to a poll

to cast a vote for them.

Instead, being homeless, jobless, and surviving,

the path I walk is... detachment. 

Until one rises up as champion

for those things I have spoken,

none deserve my support, money, anything. 

I shall not defend this stance.

I see no need to, now.

Society kicked me one last time,

so I get the message carried

in that boot tip so wickedly.

You, America, are a failure, now.

And I should have stood up

long before now to say such. 

Now, I weigh my options, carefully.

Do I write off all people?

Walk off into the beckoning mountains,

never to walk amid such fools?

Or do I make a stand?

Pondering on this will take time. 

9June2014 - Dyfedd Rex, who is not dead, just been thinking. 

Rampant Rumors, Unconfirmable. - A warning

Once more, rumors at the library speak of another stabbing by the Road Home. This makes over a dozen reaching my ears since Turkey day, and I know many more go unheard until bodies get found the next few weeks, based on past years. Betting a few others happened, and the victims managed to crawl off, before any knew it happened, to some hole they either survived in, or passed away. 

News still lies silent, but often is on evening events until morning. 

Still, one more reason to stay well clear... of Hell's Block. No way I will return there, short of being armed to the teeth myself. Or suicidal. Not feeling the urge for either now, but steel rests on my belt, I step lighter than ever before, and sleep, when out, with one eye open. Not a good thing for my health and sanity. 

. 

Hints of Summer's Plague - A Poem of the Streets

The storm is coming.
That annual boiling out
of the most troubled hard-cases
away from Hell's Block.

Warm weather calls them,
luring them further out by day
tricking them with tolerable
nights to wander now.

Each spring it happens,
and we campers fear the dark plague
marked by crimes the addicts oft do
and we get blamed for.

Winter's deep cold helped
keep the disaster contained tight
around the shelter area
for most that season.

Already the worst
walk the streets by night, hunting prey.
Seeking careless to rob or mooch,
sidling up slyly.

My spot gets visits
each night now, from those shadowy
figures marked by empty backpacks
that speak their hunger.

They steal to get high,
addictions driving reason off
and no one is safe from fingers
that even dip friends.

Some head for high ground,
others disappear from the town
as those questors radiate out from
the place called Hell's Block.

We hear the rumors,
tales of the fools setting up sites
around the shelter to hide in
as they do their drugs.

Warnings from the guys
speak of worse things brewing inside
ready to squirt across the vale
as the low temps rise.

Beware, ye brave souls
who feel the town is your kingdom
for the den of theives sends them out
shutting half their beds.

Each spring, this happens,
each summer indignantly folks
cry their city is invaded
by the homeless bums.

But, they never left.
Only hid out the worst few weeks
that winter tossed at this city
then slither back out.

Seven hundred souls,
that is the count inside most nights
of men alone as I can recall,
in Winter's hard moons.

Now, they roll away
from the hole they have near destroyed
to seek new game to take toll on
and you might be next.

Walk with extra care,
you citizens of good standing
for the criminals slowly creep
out by night to hunt.

No care of target
they seek their next high or low fix,
or profit off unsuspecting
who don't see them there.

The campers take care
moving more furitively now,
knowing the first wolves wander nights,
and the pack follows.

You don't sleep that well
when the predators roam the nights,
knowing you could be the next one
whose hole they sneak in.

Already, we see
the 'tracks' of this pestilence
by torn open packs scattered round
and injured campers.

I walk soft these days,
and 'steel' once more lies on my belt.
I gaze at the forbidden hills
gauging the moment.

Soon, I will head up.
No question this year about that.
Not willing to be exposed now
to their drugs and crimes.

19February2014 - Dyfedd Rex

Intimidation's Silence - A Poem of the Streets and Homeless Realities

Distanced as I am
from the evnts that shake
through the Homeless community frequently
by my being a camper,
I still hear
the aftershocks.

Rumbles that spread out,
like rippling Secondary Wave propagation
to leave emotions stirred about fiercely.
Fear, Anger, even some joy,
over the violent episodes
ignored by most.

And violence is high.
Again this week the tremblors
race through our fractured rumor mill
of what goes on there,
in Hell's Block, recently
and its surrounds.

Which left me pondering
over what those outside hear
through the biased mass media channels
of our trials and tribulations,
as the war rages
around our "caste".

Perchance that word fails.
It's more like a concentration camp
where we are rounded up regularly
shoved into a milling mass
to contain worst elements
under watchful eyes.

Eyes that sometimes fail.
Such as happened Wednesday night.
When even with cops spotlighting crowds,
a fight broke out suddenly
escalating into 'steel' flashing
before reactions occurred.

Not blaming the police.
All I've heard spoken about
indicates that altercation erupted so fast
they'd just begun to move
when the knife struck
and blood fell.

This kind of trouble
has been on the rise
with a rash late last year
that included one death known of
and others left in air
as the mass media
failed to follow-up.

Not their problem, perhaps?
Beneath their radar for stories?
Who knows their strange reasons why?
I know the code of silence
seems to works strong
among the homeless.

Which leads to belief
among leaders and the "homed"
that we are all guilty somehow.
That silence comes from fear,
as we're forced into
living with criminals.

Checking the news reports
I see no story there
about the events that went down
to use as a balance
to grapevine's sharp shudders
over the event.

And looking further back
only the fatality seems persued
as police released "person of interest"
they'd like to talk to
about that one event.
A hypocrite's silence.

Living with the criminals,
the drug abusers, and drunks
leaves one exposed, if they talk,
to perpetrator's allies and others
who hold "prison mentalities"
about speaking out.

Not to mention mistrust
between the Law and Homeless
created by actions on both sides
that widen that rift daily
thus preventing some move
to prevent violence.

You cannot really trust
that person on next bunk,
who might take offense at words
that implicate them or friends,
not to take retaliation
when least expected.

That is the blockade
for so many crimes there.
The fear invoked by intimidation's shadow,
as the criminals weave around,
leaving threats in air
veiled or openly.

So, I ask this.
Why should not the media
take up for those so fearful
to keep quiet about crimes
committed among the homeless
and keep pushing?

For courage is fine,
until the revenge falls down
and you suffer a painful event
that sends a warning harshly
that you best learn
to stay... silent.
As Journalists do,
in jaded disdain,
apparently.

17January2014 - Dyfedd Rex

never look at the news. - advice and commentary

Okay, I looked. Mea Culpa. Now, I cannot stop laughing and groaning over the fact that the boy that inspired me to create Troy Tanner and CRAPP is back at it again.

That jester named Dyer claims he has yet another dead Sasquatch/Bigfoot to show the world. This time in Texas. As with the last time, he claims to killed it well before, and had it tested and confirmed.

I have to say it now. One word, and I bet others agree.

Bullshit.

This is the same moron and friends from the fiasco in 2008. Remember them having one in a freezer down in Georgia? While it would be fun if it was real, my money is on it being yet another hoax. But, I guarantee you, I will both rework and sell the first Troy Tanner story I wrote, about that fiasco, and a new one, sending them out to publishers to make fun of him as I try making a few bucks and get folks to giggle or laugh out loud.

Oh, yeah. That's why I read the news. You never know when the Muses are speaking through the mass media.

An Update I Never Thought I'd Post

So, this is just an update on life for this guy, and the strange ways and twists Life likes laying out for me. Nothing earth-shaking, no real changes to my status as an "unproductive" member of your foolish Society out there, just a step taken that gives me hope to end this Homeless crap on my terms, not the terms of those fools who think they know the ways to do everything.

What step was it? A strange one to have taken, quite honestly. I collected on a bet. A bet made with myself and society about my writings and job search. One I am not really happy to have lost, but that makes me proud. You see, it proved that I knew what I was saying last year in interviews. I kept telling folks, over and over in them that "Personally, as my writing is at last taking off, I'm betting I see money from it before I get a paycheck from any jobs I'm interviewing for. Don't get me wrong, I'd love it if you prove me wrong."

And, in the end, I was right.

Saturday, I collected the bet from myself, in the form of a milk shake, as where I was at did not offer root beer floats.

Yes, something sold. Nice, cashy money is headed my way.  I will make a formal announcement later this month, directing folks where to look for it. Once all the details are locked in.

But, I won. I was right, everyone else once more was wrong. Not taking pride in that. Just saying that you all might want to listen more to me, hear me out. I am not insane, folks. I just have a brain that runs about twice as fast as most folks, and can see things many ignore. I see the obstacles, prejudices, and red-tape issues that hold down the homeless and unemployed far better than you can, in your cars and job sites. My eyes note things you overlook, or dismiss as trivial, until they break your nose slamming into your own faces.

I'm finding it sad, really, winning this bet. It means you out there actually don't give the south end of a north-bound rat about actually ending these issues. So, I'll keep writing, and still toss out job apps. My voice will be raised even more over the next few weeks and months about the ways you use to keep those on the bottom of your Society held down. Words will be written now more carefully, not from fear of reprisals, as before, but to maximize their impact on your over-inflated egos as you sneer at me, eyes firing dirty looks along the slopes of your noses. And I will keep trying to get more stories out there for cash, assemble that collection of poetry and try selling it as an e-book, and carry my packs with pride, not shame. For that load I bear, much like those metal links born by the dwarves in mys stories, are my Chain of Sorrows. Ones I will lift to back knowing this. They mark the price YOU make others pay in part.

Yes, YOU make me, and the other homeless, bear this kind of burden. Too stuck up to hire a homeless person? Then accept the fact that to survive, we will be there, on those corners holding cardboard signs, rummaging through ash trays and gutters for "snipes", as we call those cigarette butts you toss aside with only  a puff or two left, and lingering about waiting for that opportunity to rise up once more.

Sure, not all of us want out. But why hold down those who do? Scared that one with hunger and cold nights so close to their present moment will make you look bad? Fear that we will do as some who you lift up act, and rob and assault those holding out the hand? Yeah, there are bad apples. Even in the barrel you live in now. Folks who preach the "Rule of Law" but fight at following it with lead feet when behind a steering wheel, lazy buttocks that refuse to leave their couches to shovel the snow off their sidewalks as required by those Laws, and those who walk the blurry regions between Legal and Criminal in their business practices and personal ethics. I think you have more to fear from the person in the next cubicle than the homeless person that might need a job mopping your floors.

 And the next bet I'm making is forming even now. I dare you to make me forfeit on it. Double-dog-dare-ya even.

This fellow is now wondering and considering laying a steak dinner on whether writing is his way out, as he has mentioned in the past, over seeking normal employment. A fancy one, say at a real steak house, not some Village Inn or Denny's. The kind that comes with a cocktail to enhance the pleasure, not a milk shake.

So, Society, you willing to take me up on this one? Or, are you all still freaking out that I was right, and you were wrong before?

Be nicer if the bet was not with myself, but some one else.

New Year on Hell's Block - A poem of the streets, maybe a declaration of war.

Yesterday, I gambled,
today I pay for it,
but hold forth news many should heed.
For before noon yesterday morn
I walked there....
Hell's Block.

It lacks boundaries,
ebbing and flowing with seasons,
and the counter currents forced on it
by the locals and cops
as they fight...
Hell's Block.

A war lost
each day though few see
how the battle raged before their eyes
and which were victims or
the perps on...
Hell's Block.

My definition lays it out
as a broader zone than most
for I now say it takes in
every lot under that narcotic fog
I've come to call "Drog".

Watched twenty minutes
maybe a tad bit more
how dealers operated brazenly along Rio Grande
Cash flashing, calls to passer-by's
of drugs on...
Hell's Block

Watched the denizens
who get the free pass
lie against the walls stoned beyond action
or do the various dances
oft performed on...
Hell's Block.

Antics that revolt
not just the one observing
but the ones impacted more personally there
along that lane between services
for saving in...
Hell's Block.

You cannot decry losing parks
when you never made serious efforts
at the root causes of the troubles
in your war on narcotic substances
that this place proves lost.

Worst thing seen
during both passes through there
was not the derelicts laying amid filth,
the "new hooker" doing her strut
seeking clients amid...
Hell's Block

No, brace yourself.
For the only innocents there
are the children forced into these dangers
cause none want homeless families
anywhere but on...
Hell's Block.

And of those,
some are already lost forever.ta
Scarred by what goes on around them
that even kids are champions
at cussing on...
Hell's Block.

And I hold some blame
for not standing up before now
about the things seen before I left
angered at the failures of Justice
when it came to me.

Ask yourselves, honestly.
Should those kids be there?
Amid the drunks, drug dealers and users
who you all shoved there
seeking to contain...
Hell's Block.

Why hold out
so many helping hands now
during the season of holidays running together
and yet disappear from sight
when violence rocks...
Hell's Block.

And why force
those who probably were not
part of those making that filthy mess observed
yesterday along South Rio Grande
clean up on...
Hell's Block

Yes, the drunks were forced
to sweep up the stoners messes
and women and men handed shovels, brooms
to clear off that disaster left
from the revelries of others.

And already rumbles
reach my ears beyond bounds
of the place most mark as problematic
as the angers boil over
reaching out beyond...
Hell's Block

Congratulations to those
who thought of this idea,
you managed to fan the war's flames
amid the violence already there
along sidewalks of....
Hell's Block

I'm not saying
that the effort is wasted
but there you failed to see clearly
those dividing lines between camps
down there on....
Hell's Block.

But in the long run
will any actions taken be enough?
For there are still victims mentioned here
who ain't being lifted away safely
before their own corruption comes.

And none see the problems
as well as the homeless themselves
who never get a seat at discussions
of the problems they all face
save by proxy from providers...
with their own little agendas
for that place...
Hell's Block.
2January2014 - Dyfedd Rex, ashamed there is a kid knee-high to a grasshopper down there with a fouler mouth than his when irritated, wishing he had more than words to offer to get that young one out of it.

And yes, I am seriously thinking of going before the local councils and reading them this, and some other parts of the "Riot Act" type stuff.

Last Morning at Bear Lake - A poem of some time off the streets

Cold air ruled the morn
my last away from the city
as the cracks between clouds rolling in
allowed in the first light of day
that silvery glow, hinted by sky
still a pale blue tint.

Took out the old pipe
loaded it up and lit it,
standing on the broad ledge along hills
watching the roller clouds slowly run over
the Bear River Range and others
as the deer passed through.

A small herd, grazing upwards
after touching the lake for water,
just as curious about my being out
as I was about their lack of fear.
They stood at the driveway bend
watching me smoke this morning.

Three does and a buck,
two points is all he bore,
and smaller than his ladies, by far.
They youngster had a good start, seems
on building his family from scratch
or they were bunching already.

Those rollers caught light southeastward
silver tops over grey-black bellies
and the wispy trailed feathers of white
beneath them spoke of snow they came here
to lay as a blanket soon,
maybe even tonight, up here.

Winter is here, for sure.
The air is cold carrying dampness,
the ground still parched from summer's heat
and Bear Lake is looking pretty low.
The dark sandbar forming well out
from the normal shoreline today.

This is a great place
to escape the city's nasty ways
where some crime prompts the sirens' wails
to wake a man up from sleep
leaving the taste of fear hanging
in a mouth seeking safety.

Headed back soon, I fear.
Back to the streets and crime
once this cabin is winterized and sealed,
to a place I once loved dearly,
but now carry a strong dislike
over the way things go.

The hills call me loud
when out and away like this,
asking me to enter their folds quietly
and offering to swallow me into valleys
that hold a peace rarely disturbed
once the snows piled up.

Now that orange glow pulses
between breaks in the deck above
as a storm slowly rolls over us
driving out the smogs and stagnant airs
the warmer weather brought us lately,
which is good, and bad.

No place to fort up
that is my biggest worry now,
the loss of places I once used
to others and their bad camping manners,
leaving this traveler of the streets
worried he'll need to surrender.

Until I absolutely have to,
I'm staying out of that darkness
down around the shelter, where drugs rule.
Can't take that kind of risk now,
with allergies to their recreational chemicals
forcing me to stay away.

Makes it tougher, for sure.
But I have steel in me,
hidden under the layers of veneer civilization pasted
onto me when society accepted my presence
before turning me out as failure,
even as I held true.

The deer wandered away slowly
and I finished my smoke, chilled.
The winds of winter are rising up
stirring the worries, the cold, my soul.
But within me lingers summer's heat
in my soul and heart.

Waiting to finish this job
I step inside, write this up
and hurry back outside, afraid of missing
some little event or color show here
that will have to carry me
until the spring thaws return.

1December2013 - Dyfedd Rex

Dangers Rise Up - A poem of the streets

Dangers rise up
as the cold builds
and Winter reaches out claws
to rip up sup
as we wander.

Currently, we wonder
who is our stalker
and rumors talk of one
who likes stabbing backs
with real knives.

I don't venture
west of Third West
myself now that my allergies
rage up so easily
so it's hearsay.

Or is it?
Been warning folks lately
about the new, darker element
that walks the streets
of Salt Lake.

Now, at night
I do worry some
about those guys I know
who have gone back
to the shelter.

And those campers
who brave that area
at about the same time
as these crimes occurred
at Coffee Line.

Eyes narrowed warily
I survey those about
seeking some clue, but fail
to see where threats
may be waiting.

Oh, I see
some that cause concern
but none match what happened
or am I blinded
by my misconceptions.

So I walk
with a different gait.
Hiding the bum knee's pain
to make the target
look less inviting...
and warn friends
to beware.
7November2013 - Dyfedd Rex

Better Vibes from Hell's Block - A poem of the streets.

A different rumble echoes now,
up from what I call
Hell's Block on this blog.
Word that a crackdown's begun,
way overdue by most accounts
on the thieves who prey
upon their fellow homeless travelers.

Heard of it just today,
some guys headed down there
to grab dinner at Vinnie's
(Saint Vincent de Paul Center,
for those not knowing slang)
where they saw something rare
volunteers watching who grabs bags.

You see, the spice monkeys,
users of that synthetic dope,
tend to walk off regularly
with bags not theirs rightly
to fund their smoking binges.
So this is an improvement
compared to past open seasons.

Yeah, open season I said.
A happy stealing ground thing,
where they walked off with
any bags not attached firmly
to your back, hand, leg
or other body part  available
to keep your gear safe.

There is still some doubt
if they will keep strong
in this new found resolve
to give us some security
as we take a repast
at their tables, when able,
and betting edges for short.

Still, glad to echo out
a positive vibe and words
from that ten acre land
I no longer even dare
to venture near from fear
of a severe allergic reaction
to the dreaded narcotic fogs.

Hope they keep it up.
14October2013 - Dyfedd Rex

Bad Weather and Users - A poem of the streetlife

Grey skies,
rain and cold,
these trigger the fall
not just of the leaves
but those who dance
upon razor's edge
of addictions.

Three times
the ambulance arrived
and not done yet
as the day drags slowly
and the addicts slink
looking for places
to use.

Despite gathering
of various cops
here in the library
they do their stupid stunts
like rolling joints openly
on changing tables
in restrooms.

Rattling bottles
mark the poppers,
seeking water to wash
away their minds and souls
they feel no need
to keep handy
seeking oblivion.

Spice monkeys
were all spastic
jerky motions and energy
then comes the deadly crash
as the darkness within
renders them down
into zombies.

Ether's reek
in the restrooms
tells all homeless travelers
that the tweakers are here
smoking where they please
and the hell
with others.

Bad weather
brings it out
or at least inside
where others can see it,
the self destructive impulses
that run amok
amongst users.

Yet I
still manage, somehow,
to avoid those lures
walk away from their offers
to join them awhile
get stoned, pass-out,
awaken robbed.

Drunks speak
with slurred voices
some loud, bordering obnoxious,
others quiet as church mice,
still holding a shred
of situational awareness
about cops.

All because it's raining.
10October2013 - Dyfedd Rex

The Stalkers and Lurkers Abound - A poem of today's streets

You see them stalking
bundles of pure rage
high on some drug
looking for a fight,
making one when able
just to notch guns
they don't (hopefully) carry.

This year is different.
Worse than last year,
beyond the memories held
by the chronically homeless,
they all talk daily
about these proddy punks
and the fights avoided.

Already, the word's out.
Watch your backs, fellas,
these wannabe's are hunting,
looking for hair's hesitation
then marking that person
as one to roll
when the opportunity presents.

Been seeing them around,
hanging out at Library,
stalking the streets wildly,
lurking around convenience stores,
waiting for their prey,
that one who forgot,
and flashed his roll.

Not just money sought,
but your precious gear,
sleeping bags are tight,
so they're going pricey
as all the agencies
gave out their last
months ago, if had.

Electronics, cell phones, food
and the SNAP cards
all in high demand,
and easy to move
when the cops leave
to respond to fights
sometimes staged as diversions.

Hug the lights nightly,
yet use shadows wisely
to check your six,
making sure your safe,
not followed to camp,
where they invade often
seeking off guard moments.

This is the life,
it ain't easy, folks.
Nerves begin to fray
as we stay tense
for far too long,
never able to relax,
lest we seek death.

I watch them myself,
trying to see clues
as to who scored,
who's still hunting prey,
and who's just lurking
itching for a fight
to make a name.

9October2013 - Dyfedd Rex.

Anger Has a Rumble - A poem of the streets, too late, sadly

Like thunder,
Anger hath a rumble
one heard
in quiet whispered conversations
around town,
on the prime corners,
the Library,
and elsewhere, that carry.

Linked above
is a sad story,
of dangers
that abound down there,
Hell's Block
as I've called it.
A man
stabbed in the head.

The media
say he is alive
but Rumor
says he wasn't then,
and speed
was not something used,
such calls
being often nothing ther.

Despite outcome,
there is that rumble,
Tempers flaring
about how it went.
It's Rumor,
but still, does not
every Rumor
build around some Truth?

Spice Monkey
or some mad tweaker,
betting goes,
on who it is.
Those working
alsoe move those hours
and that
stirs the Anger more.

Until Truth,
or passes as such
around there,
comes out, none know.
Save victim,
perp, and few others
too scared
to talk to Police.

We live
amid this mad violence
every day,
damned into such fate
by Society
that acts towards us
as if
we don't matter anymore.

I report
only what I hear,
and cannot
rely on the veracity
of whispers
but that Anger echoes
up streets
from Hell's Block now.

We'll survive,
at least some wil,
but now
you get an idea
why some
choose not to go
down there,
to avoid such things.

The campers
all speak of it.
The surfers
scramble for another couch
to avoid
what will surely come
and soon,
another crackdown, too late.

There's trouble
on the streets lately,
younger ones
who have nothing left
but Rage
that boils out suddenly,
without provocation
other than slights perceived.

And all
walk a bir uneasy
for now
we know for sure
that those
who rage about town
may really
be ready to fight...
... and kill.

3October2013 - Dyfedd Rex, who walks carefully tonight.
Due to this:
http://www.sltrib.com/sltrib/news/56949564-78/amp-police-lake-salt.html.csp

Blinded by Their Own Agendas - a poem of the moment and streets

Yeah.... right.
http://www.sltrib.com/sltrib/news/56940960-78/homeless-lake-salt-chief.html.csp

I'll believe it when I see it...
as to fix things, you first must
open your eyes and look around you,
open your ears and hear what's said.
And from what I saw just today
that ain't gonna happen any time soon.

Out in front of the Library today,
with an incident already having two cops
at it, just right across 2nd East
I watched a Crime Scene Unit pass
a guy smoking dope in foil pipe,
with a tallboy passed to a buddy.

Yeah, right out in the open, folks.
With three cops in sight, kids passing
and other citizens noting all this activity,
looking around in total disbelief and disgust.
So, hold all the bloody press conferences
about the issues you think calm things
with the electorate you want, you fools...
...you really ain't fooling us about your failures.

I just hope the CSU at least called it in.
But I doubt it, given recent experience.

1October2013 - Dyfedd Rex in total disgust.
And, yes, I do have a clue who in power reads these...
---so wake up and bloody well do something.