"The Collection" - (2002)
david j. sperling BIO
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"The Collection" - (Index by Year)




Will I get that glance.

Everyone knows.

I have no chance.

I’m alone.

While you dance.




Is what you said.

When we walked.

In my head.

When we talked.

Yes.  Again.  In my head.




Was made clear.

As I looked.

In the mirror.

And at the school.

With no fear.




Will I back away.

From this test.


I’ll pound my chest.

I will not play.

Nor will I rest.




-       August 2002 –




                                                                       THE DARK SIDE


Evil does not hide.

You look too far.

There is no dark side.


The queer with the sign?

He’s okay.

It’s the uncle with the grin.

Who’s visiting today.


Villainy ain’t in books.

It can be rich or poor.

And not always the crooks.

But always next door.


The news don’t care.

They can’t see.

It’s their job to scare.

And it’s never free.


Fear not the dark.

It’s everywhere.

In the park.

In their stare.


Be that light.

Evil does not hide.

Or lurk at night.

It hugs your kids.

It comforts their plight.

It cons you with promise.

It’s time to fight.

Don’t look too far.

Your gut is right.


Open your eyes.

Scan the room.

Kill the cries.

Kill the doom.


There is no dark side.

That’s in your head.

Taking you for a ride.

Putting you to bed.


There is no dark side…


It is all dark.



- August 2002 -




S L I M E – H E A R T


Wallowing in self-pity.

Slime-heart finds his counterfeit strength.

Excavated artifacts, spew forth in his diddies,

     of cringing length.


Slime-heart has truth to salvage.

But it’s not in merchandise,

     or in a feel-good beverage.


His vision is clouded and weak.

Self-worship and 100 proof,

     rule his mind.

The mirror god he’s told to seek,

     because the real way,

          he will not find.






Works of the words swept aside.

Slime-heart squints at the clock.

With the jewels of his hour-glass,


Filling his soul and wobbling his, 

     walk and hopes...       


Which disappear with the tide.


But they’ll be back.

Who is Slime-heart to please?

It’s too difficult to keep track.

What matters now is that his

mind-locked troubles,

he eagerly frees.


No one to join, no one to share.

Where is society’s savior now?

They’re not interested,

     they just don’t care.

Slime-heart’s lost, he moans,

     “But how?”

Abandon and alone,

     they just want his air.

And his shoes.

And maybe, just maybe, his story,

for the five o’clock news.


- August 2002 -






Burgers, WWF, and Lotto tickets.

Dirty faces in jammed trailer spaces.

Never-ending rows of white pickets.

Peck, peck, peck, at the different races.

We pop pills like they’re Chicklets.


Sometimes I wish I was wrong.


We like it bloody.

I didn’t do it!  Where’s my attorney?

Nobody is guilty.  Nobody.

Cashing in love for sex—About this I ain’t wrong.

There’s tits and ass everywhere.

We suck down porn like it’s in a bong.


Sometimes, I wish I was wrong.


Our lives are spent chasing money.

And marble counter-tops.  And monogram towels.

As death creeps near, it won’t be cute.  And it won’t seem funny.


There’s too much power in saying no.

Where’s the unity in community?  Everyone wants to be the best.

Praying for the work whistle to blow.

We have to make appointments to make appointments to rest.

And please tell me, how in the hell can you tell a friend from a foe?


Fed to death by the ton.

Cosmetics are now surgical.

We’re filling bags with fat and silicon.

Picking pictures over words.

Where have our senses gone?


Sometimes, I wish I was wrong.


The kids must wake up.

And turn on their light.

Then we’ll strip away our make-up.

I hope I am not right.


You can hope all you want.  It does not work.

Unless you pull your belt tight.

And grow the hero.  And erase the jerk.

It won’t happen tonight.

It won’t happen soon.

Life ain’t all birthday cake and free balloons.


Sometimes, I wish I was wrong.


I do know that since time began—Listen, I’m not dumb.

Somewhere, somehow, someone has been singing this song.

Embrace your pain, eat your bitterness, and kill the numb.

For this won’t be America…Not for long.


- August 2002 -


"The Collection" - (Index by Year)


Created & Copyrighted by David J. Sperling