AND IT WAS GOOD

Greedy capitalists assault the senses

Every minute of the day

It’s the American way

I only ever tried

To sell myself

Often failing miserably

(but stuck with it)

Things that chap your ass

Are easily remedied 

If you’ll just get off of it

And take care of business

Now that would make

A good advertising slogan

(with a patriotic ring)

To help boost the economy

O America

Is there any hope for you now?

Whitman saw it all folding out

Into a glorious panorama

Scaling mountains

Pulling myself cautiously up 

And it was good.

Hold onto that romantic vision
America

Like the buffalo you decimated

It may yet make a comeback one day

When neighbor stops hating neighbor

And brother stops killing brother

Oh hey

Listen to me

You can still hear that

Wide-eyed idealist

Boarding the bus to the airport

To board the plane

And wing his way over the ocean

To a brand new life

And all because he took a chance

And got off his ass 

And followed his dream

GET REAL

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All of a sudden

the sports talk guy

on the radio

has become a champion

of sensitivity

to women's issues

as if he never spent

a night out boozin' and laughin' 

it up with the boys--

as if he never sat

in a locker room

and traded those jokes before

UMBRAL SKY

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The lonesome moon roams the streets
searching for mad love
in all its myriad forms--
it's image reflected in the gutter splash
that peppers my trousers
as a fancy horse-drawn carriage blows by.

A calypso drumbeat seeps
from some nearby edifice.
The crickets sing along.

I duck behind a shop
to drain the snake.

Memories of sinning in the alley
thrust
bang
bite
come flooding back.

I'm so uncouth
I laugh
slurring my words
it's only life
I'll just go back again
and take it on the chin.

Drifting along
weaving this way and that
muttering curses
into the dying night.

I am the master of my fate
but where are my subjects?

The moon climbs rapidly
in its umbral sky.

A poem swirls round
in my head
edgy and cryptic
teetering right on the brink
of beginning to stink.

I've walked right up to the abyss
and peered over.
Backed away
to fight another day.

Yes
I believe in mad love
in all its myriad forms
one's only leverage
in a broken world.

The cock crows.
A new day begins.

The will to survive 
is all we have.

STATUS REPORT

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Tucked away 
in my tower

safely hidden
from the past

keepin' busy
as always

I have my books
and my poetry
to protect me...

I'm only sad 
when I hear 
those songs again