Dango

Crouching, Hidden

here where so much effort has
been put into industrialization,
stocking the shelves with age old memories
of privation and overlord intransigence

a neighbor is catching up, making up
for 50 years without western blessings,
itself a land of dragons and tyrants
with a serious bone to pick,
copying every move that once worked
to its rivals advantage

who will get in between these two?
they are circling eachother with locked eyes
flexing muscles, the slightest flicker.

The Devil Grants a Rare Interview

Seems like war could have been averted
if we had only diverted resources in a
proper way (no it couldn`t have, we like war)

We like it in the armchair and at sufficient remove,
but in the flesh? I think we would have chosen
a third way if we had known they`d bring
war to our doorstep (no, we were bored and
overfed, waiting for someone to bring something,
the milk man, the mail man, the war monger, whoever)

Then at least you might admit the mothers of this nation,
given a chance to rule and decide the tack of our future
involvement might have chosen one more implicit
and subtle, less threatening for sure ( there is nothing
subtle about the american soccer mom)

So I guess we were doomed to go down this slippery
road to war and nary a branch in the road could have
prevented it (I could have, but was condemned
long ago to the hot bowels of the earth, where
only the wicked could hear me)

God is good and you are evil, at least that is a given
(no the binary thinking that still informs and motivates
a million holy rollers and their government minions
is the problem, God and I are just real good friends,
golfing buddies really)

And you are just an echo in my mind.

Visiting the Sights

I am visiting the white house, dressed in black
my mind still reeling from the long flight from Xiaojin

I am taking in the white of the dome and the archaic
grassy peace of the scene, not a bird or leaf stirring

It is quite humid already, mid-spring, I`m turning my head
and resting my pull-behind travel bags on the pavement,
wondering why it`s so quiet

There is a rustling, some men in black crush me
to the pavement, pull me by four limbs, I am being
carried, my god, are they making a movie?

Future Gruntmen

the robot moves like a Tonka toy
through the bushes, squat remote controlled,
a little king through the scene it surveys
indifferently without thought for the naked
and unarmed mockup humans it tears through
so surgically with belts and belts of
steel tipped thunder, the army grunts
a little heavy with boredome induced sloth,
the people they`ll tear through less real
than the action flics in the mess room,
their girlfriends calm words on the phone
lulling at night, they feel they are floating
in a world of feminine warmth,
no nervousness of war-worried widows to nag
these overlords with the video game reflexes
and Tonka truck might.

an earth-mad tide

the streets were dirt, shuffled and aromatic, though
conjested with tourists a couple turns would take you
to some trees and a small relaxed table and chairs
an old thai woman, big steel fry pan in hand, noodles
or beef and chiles, any dish, dogs lazing in the heat
the palm studded sway of the tropics,
just a short walk from one of two bays, as if
this island had been doubly blessed by the gods
two hilly rocky mountains joined by this
paradisical spit, everything relaxed as nowhere else
in Thai, no cars, hence the sense of timelessness
and old Thai despite the crowding, here you could
almost forget the downside of third world asia
forgetting the words of the old fishermen
who through generations prized their hillside
houses, wedlocked to solid rock
no flimsy no-code stalls or bungalows
to be swept in a sickening shuffle
by an earth-mad tide.

(for Koh Phi-Phi, in memorium)

viva bush!

The red states relish their power,
this is it, for the first time they
are here being examined by the
the world, the once derided hicks
of Sunday comic fare
feeling their groove through layers of fat
and video game libidos, these people now
controlling the world from ranches
laid out around suburban offerings
to real estate, commerce
and the minor deities
Nascar, Jesus.

Shifting Sands

Had a dream I was a soldier in some vast desert
of ever shifting sands, bone dry valleys ribbed
with hard dead trees, caught between two pincers

Orders from above, enemies like mosquitoes
darting in and drawing blood without leader
or set pattern, killing us one by one.

The sky was deep red and a sort of resignation
entered my soul, a feeling that perhaps

suppose one of those phantoms pierced my armor
and sucked out my soul in the name of allah
or his grandfathers left eye

there would be no light,
nothing to guide me through a faithless night.

Important as Doubt (lyric)

Cadance is a virtue, it`s the thing that makes us tick
if we move our magic markers we can teach the world to
sit a while and ponder choices
and come to another view
that if you press it bends a little as it saunters out of view

I take it back
I dont know why, I`ve changed my tack
If I cry
remember times I wiped your eyes
and if I doubt
remember times we were caught out

Reputation lives along a long and a winding vine
that rather sooner than expected
bears a sour wine
and lives amidst a bramble
through a thick skin peering out
and forgets the young must strive
and most importantly to doubt

It`s my choice
If I will bide my time and doubt
A call to arms
would leave us stranded and worn out.

Mr. Peterson`s Gift

It was easy enough to see they loved eachother, they had their arms around eachother half the day, always murmuring sweet nothings and baby names, to be silently rejected with a little shake of the head, or put on the block for further thought with a little smile. It was easy enough to see she loved him, cooking as usual, sometimes with her sister though her stomach churned and she fought the urge to sit down or vomit. It was clear from the way they sat across from eachother at the table, touching knees. And the little presents he sometimes bought her, flowers, even baby toys. Oh yes, they loved eachother. And one day he took her fishing.

we live in a time of cowboys

we live in a time of cowboys, full bodied, fidgety, put on a golden horse with a silver spoon, Dangerous and without a net, guiding cattle who have Changed color and Changed their minds through the deep grooved channels of a washed out wagon track, spinning backwards on a lulling axis. When the cattle have convinced themselves that everything is of the same color and everyone bleeds red, white and blue, WHOOSH! the suicide akmed indian blows everything sky high and it`s one big fuckin`stampede, pursued (at safe distance) by headless horseman.