oLD wHITE gUYS

The old republican party
Like husbands with hookers
Stinks like a shore with dead fish
Littered from end to end along love canal


After playing shell games
Organized in pyramid schemes
To the detriment of the entire world
They still make noise from their death beds


Lipstick painted on rocks
With low slung double D boobs
Wiggling suggestively to conservatives
Who have to take their eyes out at night to sleep


With wives in straight jackets
Who move trance like through days
Littered with the detritus of many mortgages
Rubbing up against the pilings of their magnificent docks

Mohammed

Over the abominable sand of a sterile landscape
God appeared to the prophet and complained

You speak too much about things
You know so little about




Finally in Iran during the early 21st century
Neda was shot down to die in her father’s arms

Galvanizing repressed women to prefer death
To another day crushed under the Mullah’s thumb




And these are the days, after her, we are all watching
To see if the people’s will can be achieved in Iran

But of course the richest Muslims cast their eyes
At heaven trying to catch the glimmer from His return

Clean Slate

In the background I heard
This chalk scratching

Out writing on
The wall



Whose invisible hand
Moved through eyes

Shaping clay into souls
It crept over our words



Finally exploding at death
From spines and brains

WE do finally realize just
What life really meant to US

Explorers

One hundred percent free
From the flow of Cascadian oil
Our small segment of the great organism

Succeeded from the union of our birth
Standing up and saying “Here I am
Doing what I feel is right to do”


Understanding means standing under source
Not just hearing the words of God but
Feeling them through your body

This is what an electrocution feels like
First every muscle in your body
Contracts then explodes

Finally your brain starts to boil away
Rushing out through the years
Your ship leaves the dock

Strapped In Leather

Roaches were running up both thighs
While blood ran out in front of the
House where I’d been left alone
Suffering for things I felt bad

Lingering past the hour of death
Even though limp yet flew on
Straight towards the light
Past the event horizon

Suddenly I realized why butterflies
Were so beautiful as the ground
Was punctuated with glorious
Bouquets of their fluttering

And I started to see some old friends
Appearing out of the mist gathered
Together to greet me at the door
Ushering in another nice guest

Good

When all our children go to one school
They will all be one people under God

When all our children become educated
They will participate in true democracy

When all our children discover the Truth
They will all know exactly who they are

When all our children bind infinity tight
They will unwind their way to the stars

Granny Ruthie

The cock roaches in my house are under your spell
All scurrying beneath the green beer bottles
Piled up in corners with Kleenexes
Yellowed stiff with time

This boy
A sweet sixteen
Out hunting one cold
Winter's day when out of
The East sprang up this breeze
Two large blackbirds settling down
On the branches of some tall pine trees
High above the stone of grandfather’s grave

Your grandson below in the snow aimed his gun
And shot! Suddenly the world stopped
Turning as those two big birds
Tumbled down through
The needles and
Leaves

Grandmother made us a black bird pie out of them
Feeding Ruthie and Jim each a breast on
Easter Sunday while grandfather
Sat delirious with syphilis

On the couch next to Granny who wore
Their wings in her ice blue hair

Panties

When my love leaves
On her business trips

I slip into the laundry
And gently caress her

Granny panties loving
Every crevice and fold

In a room she washed
Our clothes with a love



Never further away then
Simply thinking about her

I can see our lives stretching
From young adults into old age

Still loving to touch and groom each
Other exactly like old chimpanzees do

We two grizzly individuals all hunkered down
In our nest sitting on thrones we built each other

What is Art?

Art is dead material
That speaks louder than
Words or odd shapes in clouds

Art is first and foremost pure information
Like maple syrup a product of trees
It branches out sugaring minds

Lord

I must reach up
Into the skies
Where God dwells

In total silence old poets
Maintain mankind's
Highest horizon

Pattern patterns the quiet so loud
Silence full of sounds abound

In your dreams I’m awake
Another simple reality
For what’s left over

Riding the crest of big waves
This Silver Surfer glides
Past the watch tower

The Addict

Unresolved the blight
That invades the night

Driving me to unexpected
Destinations on the poor
Side of town in a run
Down tenement

Leaving behind what others
Thought of me escaping
In utter degradation
And management

Of the unresolved pain I felt
For letting everybody down