The almost mandatory 9-11 entry.
America, you have taken sorrow and made it spectacle.
You have made war in our names.
You have called for regime change.
You have called for volunteers.
Germany, why isn't your arm raised?
France, I always knew you would come around eventually.

The pResidnet hugging a worker in the flashback.
He promises that the evil doers will be given hell.
He promises that the dead will be avenged.
He speaks for the fatherless children and newly made widows.
When he calls for war. A war that has no goals.
A war to end "terror". A war to shake the doers of "evil".

The veils for the dead is large enough at 2801
Large enough to cover the loss of freedom
Large enough to blind us to scandal
Large enough to accomplish political goals
Large enough to plot the axis of evil

"Turn the middle-east into a parking lot"
Someone actually said that.
I suddenly feel lucky.
Lucky to be born here.
Where we turn ourselves into parking lots voluntarily.

I protested the first Gulf War
Now our collective sorrow
is the coin for a new one,

Its madness
On the radio one year later
They list the dead one by one.
Eventually the pResident will speak.
I cannot listen.
You can't speak the name of evil
You can't stare into the abyss
without it staring back.

Bastard
Gustav Klimt
was the
father of 14
illegitimate children
so much for the dispassionate
observer
so now I wonder
did these bastards roaming the streets of Austria
ever sex some distant relative
making me
Klimt's bastard
many times removed?
and can I
put that on my resume?

Petting Zoo
they all ate from your hand
and you basked in the novelty
of instant affection

Empathy
Thinking of you again,
Plato was a fool.
His philosophy never pressed its head
against your neck,
and kissed the area distinctly below
the shoulder blade.

Knives, you said.
followed by grin that says
"you will not open that door"
and the moment passed
and time sped to meet me
once more.

We are no longer what we were.
You won't walk to me in a dark room
and wait for my hands to reach you.

Sometimes I will call up the memory of
your perfume, and remember
that I knew what I was getting into.

And smile, light a cigarrette
and send the memory
back.

Thoughts before and after.
I think of the moment that
I watch you exhale
subtle clues are keys
and your hands told me volumes

If I had a gift for metaphor
I would speak of planes,trains
and passing ships,
instead of saying that you don't
feel
that way
anymore.

Whirling Dervish
She spins
Oblivious
To me
I focus
refocus
but the meaning
blurs
better she dances (spins?)
than
the stillness I cannot answer

Letter from somewhere (a poem of sorts)
hello,

I hope you are well.
(the subtext here is incredible and wouldn't fit)

I realised that I couldn't lock your door last night,
I'm sorry about that.
Walking to the Mosque at 3:30 smoking,
Noticing the last vestages of you
withering beneath the cloves and tobacco
driving in an empty town in the time between
the late partyers and the early risers

was I just there?
enjoying your half asleep passion?
all I sense is the smoke and the car
and the empty streets
and the slow walk up my stairs.

good night beautiful I said.
and slipped out into
night.

Of course I get it.
Skien wrapped now,
No more wondering about black baloons
solace in words refreshing as
your drying paint.
I write obtusely to say obvious things
and cover my ass if I change my mind.
A million dollars for your nickel
you always changed as reptiles
skin stripping for masses,
You see there I go...
again.

Preamble to bus poem
Theres a certain letdown to running to catch something and finding once there, that you would have made it walking.

Loop Champaign via Green St.
True serfs ride buses
I'm in disguise
looking down
avoid deadened eyes.
Borderline insane
smiles at passerby
old woman with parcel
and grocery.
Homeboys with no cars
maybe they think I'm
a serf too.
But I'm in disguise.

Perspective
Slip,
Fall,
Climb,
Hope,
Weep hope succeed find.
If you lie down in the convienant hole
you'll find its just your size.
Dig your own grave and no matter
where you stop you'll find
that its deep enough
Slip,
Fall,
Climb,
Weep-hope,
Perspective gives ladders
where foundations would not
stand.
I'm on the third rung up
two behind
or
Above
Depending on vantage.

Wasp Nest Hearts
Our spirits are not bees
to die at first given stings

We steal sweetness
at comb or can

Growing crazy with
the cooling winds