I threw the ball
hit the homer as a kid
got cut from the team
rode the hurricane wave
went to class
cut class
pass failed
cleaned the toilets
shelved the books
pounded nails,
ground and gorilla welded the pipe,
worked in toxic, flammable and carcinogenic
shitholes,
sold popcorn, candy and records
assembled the bikes
and lawnmowers
I taught the kids
ran the nightshift
was a hostler for UP
unloaded the ships
rode the horse
drove the hotshot
painted the house
and the canvas.
I wrote the checks
and these words.
I paid my taxes
and made the payroll.
I drove across the country
From Oklahoma to California
and back to Texas in no time.
I can sometimes tell the lie
knowing from the truth.
I wore the sandal and the boot.
I‘ve been hired and fired
Robbed wrecked and cheated
self employed and food stamped,
been drafted and dodged the bullet.
I’ve been to your shows
big coleseums
museum cathedrals
rock, country, punk, jazz, blues
abstract,real, conceptual, isms
all the same fashion
all the same game.
Been to the wedding
funeral, reunion,
walked your biggest cities
the plowed field, ancient forest
big rivers, salt water, deserts
fed the cow, cat and dog
loved lost and won
been bent spindled and mutilated
cut and bandaged
lost found and saved
slower but wiser
maybe not much.
And it ain’t over yet.
Now,
about yourself?

I am a consumer of:
steel
plastic
wood
paper
lead
fire
oil, water
gas
sugar, salt
chemicals I cannot pronounce
or know their value,
an unknowing consumer
duped, fooled, tricked,
blindfolded at the altar
of check out.

I also manufacture
shit, piss, semen, dandruff, tears,
blood, spit, snot, body odors
from all orifices and pits.

I will fertilize
the soil
with all my consumption
and manufacture.
Some scorekeeper
can keep the tally
of plus or minus
the worth of my existence.

But not today.
There’s another inning.
My bat. These words.

How long?

When the moon quits its job
When the letters stop arranging
themselves into a mob
when the horses all come home
when the flags fly free
when there are no armies
when your love finds the sea
when my arms are strong enough to fail
when I cannot make the bail
when the visions sail
when the small birds nest
when the lawyers all rest
when the blood finds its pest
when our restless feet learn to rage
when the pen draws the page
when our hearts are crowned in smoke

now can we go get something to eat?

He cleaned
and jerked
the empty metal trash can
over his head
took two fast steps
in a lunge
hell’s fire coals in his
eyes and face
and paused
stopped
his target frozen
on the hotel bed...
time skipped a beat
as death
entered
and left empty handed...
The rest
of the foggy crowd
exhaled
smoke
and burned oxygen
conversations
slowly started back
in a drone...
No blood.
He was a vet
caught on the tight wire.
No net.

From the highest branch
from the tallest tree
there’s a bird singing
singing for thee.

If you were wondering
where the angels hid.

Fred imagined himself
a brilliant artist
But his teacher said,
“She was so bad
it was a wonder
he could draw breath.”

I wish I had
said that.
Guess I blew it.

Every few hundred years
it comes along.
Someone carries a window
without knowing.
Some can see
thru this window
and are amazed and renewed
breathing air
that has never been inhaled
seeing with a new sun...
When the window carrier
shows up in your neighborhood
tell the mob
there will be
no barbecue today.
Give them the book to burn...
yesterday’s news is a threat.
(If yesterday is a danger
what will they think of tomorrow...)
Soon enough the window will be broken
the new book written and burned
and some one will carry
the new glass in turn.

Dances
with words
and colors,
with hammer
n scissors
n sticks
n pens
n knives
n tears
n beers...


Steppin’ on toes.
Outta step
Outta tune.
Outta time.
Outta outta.

Wanna dance?

Lifting weights
of iron.
Lifting unliftable weights
of spirit.
Lifting to get in laughable shape.
Lifting to remember,
to forget.
Lifting the blanket
to see the daylight
again.
Lifting the books
to see words
lined up like brass bullets
or blank shots
depending on who pulled
the trigger.
Lifting up shorts
to cover
naked bunghole.
Lifting up the brush
the pen
the sword
the bread
the toast
to all
who must
lift.
For the mystery
of lifting yourself
up
out
of bed
on a daily basis.
I lift my glass
I lift the rose
to this secret
lift
of perseverance
Lift off.

Lifting weights
of iron.
Lifting unliftable weights
of spirit.
Lifting to get in laughable shape.
Lifting to remember,
to forget.
Lifting the blanket
to see the daylight
again.
Lifting the books
to see words
lined up like brass bullets
or blank shots
depending on who pulled
the trigger.
Lifting up shorts
to cover
naked bunghole.
Lifting up the brush
the pen
the sword
the bread
the toast
to all
who must
lift.
For the mystery
of lifting yourself
up
out
of bed
on a daily basis.
I lift my glass
I lift the rose
to this secret
lift
of perseverance
Lift off.

As I drive
back to my place
I stop
at a store to buy
coffee and cat food
some guy calls out hoarsely
“got any spare change?”
and in the world of inequality
I do
and give it
and feel guilt
for driving away in my truck
to my house
shower
bed
refrigerator
and memories
of only minutes ago
when the world was equal
as the walls laughed
the heavens beamed back
a reflection of promises.
You are
those promises
that make the darkness
embarrassed to do its
shadowy dance.