Failed foreign policy forced my fingers to the keys

The American Corpse

Decomposing by the year:

The American corpse,

Stuck on the ground in its emissions

Flesh and bones and weeds

Desecrated by the terms:

The American corpse,

Sprawled lewdly on the earth

Deposed for its ravenous means

Rooted through by a bush:

The American corpse,

Illuminated by sexton’s lamp

Immolated by its own disease

Yet the sad red streets of the world:

The hard, enrubbled, oily streets

Streets enraged, though prayerfully

Waiting up late, on their knees

For January’s proclamation:

Hollered with unbosomed glee

Chants attend the inauguration

Ghostly elation at the scene

The wept over corpse:

The American corpse,

Composing itself, on its knees

Then standing again, like a dream

Dirt still underneath my fingernails

What We Raise

Of sweat and cedar

I built a garden

Raised above the lawn

By the filth of road

Where greens and reds

Will rise from dirt

Raise our glasses

For what we raise…

     anchors
     courage

     standards

     children

     spirits

     consciousness

     cane

Raise the alarm

For what we raise…

     forests        

     fists
     eyebrows

     weapons

     sea levels

     the banner of war

     cain

We are the dirt and

Hands clasped for color

In our own company

Thorn and rose

Raising questions

For the skies

We are both…

Raising gardens

Raised by wolves

When the textile factory collapsed in Bangladesh

On the Collapse of a

Textile Factory, Dhaka

Soils, lichen, buds

Rise on tippy toes

To birth in silence

Subduing burdens

And scars

One widow shuns

Easter, disdaining

Lilies, lilies dropped

Fifty years ago into

Her son’s grave

Reshma Begum

Rose from the dirt

After 17 days of stench

Of factory compost

In Bangladesh

Reshma bloomed

Where 1,127 did not

Pressed, unfolded

Our clothes half

Finished

When shall we look

Again, at lilies

Or press our pretty

Outfits white as

History suits?

From a placemat at Denny's

Tying It All Together

    (On a placemat at Denny’s)

            The world looks better

            Through a great cup!

A great day deserves

A great cup of coffee.

Denny’s is all about great days

We freshly brew a special blend

Of premium roasted beans

To create a bolder, richer

More satisfying morning

Than ever before

Darker, deeper, and always

Steaming hot.  Mmmm!

A cup of Denny’s Breakfast Roast

Ties your whole day together®

Orchestrate the trees

Master the stars

The world in 5 key points

At Denny’s

Get the humor of

Tragedies and cry

In the comedies

Through a great cup

Tear up child.  Weep

Obliviously.  No need

To be vigilant

Than ever before

Become kindling

Smolder, flames

Of a controlled burn

With a great cup of coffee

Ice of depression:

Crack free of me

Let my bones thaw

Darker, deeper, and always

At Denny's, America's favorite restaurant

At Denny’s, America’s Favorite Restaurant®

Grading essays; french fries

Late, Heinz joins me at my booth

Ladies, careful as surgery

Scootch into theirs.  Voices near eighty

Their make-up, fragrant

Raise shields of colorful dishes

Glossy as lipstick, in Denny’s

America’s favorite restaurant

By windows large as maps

Worlds away.  La familia:

Baby hispanica, pigtails

Takes smiles from the ladies

Her mother, father

The picture of struggle

She is expecting, sullen

He wears a work-worn stare

His mother and father still

Sit by fires in a smoky valley

Considering America on TV

And glossy restaurant chains

Their chiseled Aztecan boy

Wrought with macho

Steak knifes his comida

Like the pics in la carta

Silk spice pie, Silk

Road caravans arrive

And camels breathe hot
In Denny’s parking lot

Diaspora of hungry planet
Unites at Denny’s to eat
Together from whence
We came.  Olduvai, the caves

Lascaux.  Gladness evolves

Onto faces in hijab as waitress
Leans desserts across an oblong
Earth and all hear the soundtrack

Just a LITTLE human condition

Man

Shards of city noise bend

Up into a room where a man

Sits finally in his chair to choke

Down another bitter day

And below in the street

Dogs nest in piles of cinder blocks

       And in this room

       The grappling of his hands

       And in this room

       A neck vein pulses violently

       And in this room

       His bellowing winter cough

And in this room

Blinking Christmas lights

Surround a crucifix like barbed wire

Sending red, green rebounding

Off walls, while wrinkles

Curl across linoleum in a shadow

Neck vein, hands and cough go

Placid, as a man bends into himself

Stark

       (A man dies)

Christ echoes screams through the red

Green of the room.  Horns honk

       Amen

A confined structure, just like the ailment.

I Know

     For my friend

I am constrained to tell you of my woe

You, proud Swede, erudite you—woe

About such plague that vexes in your veins

Hiding diffidently, roaming deep

Shading your shadow with implications

I am in a state of distraction, res angusta domi

You, good Friend, high-minded you—distraction

By eclipse of your round levity, and the tears

Elaborating your exile, blunt tears, holy

By the incongruous you; yes it’s true

I am out of humor, there is none more sound than

You, militant Saint, zany you—humor

Still, from your vertical depths, unleashed

Where vis vitae was built upon a precipice

The milieu of you, sure you, koo koo

I am lonely; can it be my friend has left?

You, generous Cynic, Spartan you—lonely

As a skull in pensive mood, dolorosamente

As a crier in your wilderness, but I

I will not raise a hue and cry about you

I am calm.  The very thought of you

You, true-hearted One, honest you—calm

I know the river’s peaceful end ahead

I know the sanctuary songs begin again

You’ll sleep tonight, though dark, and then