Barry Jennings unawares,
He and Michael Hess,
Blown away their exit stairs,
Explosions he confessed,
Were under him, then hanging on,
Breaking out some glass,
Rescuers had come and gone,
Each tower it would pass.
Interviewed him on TV,
Escaping with his life.
A witness to conspiracy
Too hot his story iced.

She needs a man

She told me that she needs a man
With six months left to live,
Someone to carry out a plan,
Secret, corroborative.

Many years ago I’d said,
Such things are commonplace.
She giggled and her face turned red.
A freeze became her face.

Such a thing that I’d suggest,
No such thing conspiracy.
Conspiracy she can’t digest
Though she suggests it openly.

The recipe’s regime

Our television streams
Authoritative memes
Mixing with reality,
Their cleverest of schemes,

With everyone in teams,
And reprimands in reams,
We’re kneaded with brutality,
Flipped within our dreams.

Improved and new it seems,
Hyperbole’s extremes,
Spiced with immorality,
Soothed by sour creams.

A measured, covert scheme,
Within Hell’s steam and scream,
To weaken our morality,
Thin down our lean cuisine.

Mortality the theme
Controlled by the regime,
Heaven’s immortality
The only hope it seems.