Les Petites Morts vs Les Grande Peurs

In a society where nip slips and partial brief nudity
Are more taboo than drones dropping bombs in Syria

My Town

I’m an erect middle finger to the puppeteer
In valleys full of folks sick of California
Doing their damnedest to make California here

Men At Work

Curse the tailors
For theirs are the blindfolds and the mask of truth
Curse the steelworkers
For theirs are the bullets and barbwire

Like The Insides Of A Piano

I am the knotted insides of a piano
I sound how my guts are strung up
Once eloquent like the way antelope run
Or how wind sculpts fresh snow into drifts

Nostalgia Is Like Herpes

Nostalgia is like herpes
The more we get screwed
The bigger the chance
We’ll find a reminder of it later
If I can just get through this….

Honeycomb Pageantry

Her palace collapsed
Like a mini civilization
Amidst flapping wings
undulating in perfect pitch
along a downward,
spiralling trajectory
and a fusillade of rifle shots

Armistice

Work is just a nervous glance, and a .357 under the desk
And the wafting smoke snaking out from bosses’ mouths
Memorialize this armistice between slave and charioteer
Between the elite few riding and the multitudes run down

It’s Not All Doom And Gloom

Cops push out addicts
Living under bridges
Then talk them down
From jumping off them
Suicide rates are jumping
But it’s not all bad news
At least the stock market
Reached another high

Election Day

Every four years there’s this sporting event
Preceded by campaign promises and vows of roses
We choose our bread, circuses and the president
We mark our ballots while holding our noses

Runaway Trains

There’s this divide
Thirty seconds wide
Trillions of commercials long
Most everyone I have ever met
Want to save the planet
While filling up with gas
Or vote to save the environment
But refuse to leave their cars