http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y_-CoygRPpE

Well its three o'clock in the morning,
And I'm on the streets again.
Bought me some cigarettes,
I think I'll try and meet some new friends.

Good evening America,
I think I'll buy another round.
I've been high for three days straight,
I don't feel like coming down.

Girl, I like the way you move,
Why can't we dance all night?
You got that New Orleans thing groovin',
You must admit, it does feel right.

     But sally said, "What do you know about my love life?
     "What do you know about when I'm not around?
     "What do you know about my love life?"
     I said, "C'mon girl, what could possibly go wrong?"

Girl, you know I'm gonna live forever,
I don't care if its against the rules.
I will buy me a spaceship,
Pack it full of fools.

Look out Sally,
You better duck your pretty head.
That man ain't coming back,
I do believe that he is dead.

C'mon Sally,
Why don't we slip away.
All we need is some way
We could change the whole world some day.

Now its four o'clock in the morning,
And I'm on the streets again.
Bought me some cigarettes,
I think I'll try and meet some new friends.

Good evening America,
I think I'll buy another round.
I've been high for three days straight,
I don't feel like coming down.

Hey Girl!  Girl, hey.
Hey hey ...

- 2009

Bootlegged Calypso choristers

Multiplex into octets of Rasta gangbangers

Across Megatropolis' seven neon gates.

Rollerbladers slam righteous heads

With tyrannous decree.



In the foodcourt's hanging garden

Dangling with marbleized blutwurst

Polynices bones are exhumed

By Suburbia's sale scavengers

Against Antigone's Attic wails:



'When the habit of our freedom

  Clashes against the dream

  Then eternal moral law overrides

  The temporal laws of malls and men.

  Just pump up the volume and jump.

  Permit me to die Sheherazade's death

  Reflected in one thousand and one convex mirrors

  Where objects are closer than they appear.'



Someone call security!

A teenage girl has jumped from the foodcourt balcony

Joined by her lover, Haemon-- and his mom, Eurydice!

Lament your stupidity, bemoan your misfortune later.

Remove the bodies quickly.

We must not upset the other shoppers.

'Ten-four.'

honey you should see me with the crown
jewels stacked atop a pyre
moaning like a beatnik and a 4 AM cheap hooker
at a truckstop in Saint Louis

i have heard the failure
of words dripping
from ten thousand suburban roofs
from tongues of boys who would
have been around the point
of intellect and left with
nothing but like's and um's
and snatches and playing
with their privates
and slogans like
hip hobart my hip hobart
and god bless america
and for god and country
and heil hitler

wheres the last train to cool
out of a moral landscape
from a moral heart
from a moral chest

shine your shoes read the news
about motel art and the price of oil
clinging to the side of a lifeboat
of boredom and inadequacy
in a world of grey pinstripes
and papers in latin with seals
of broken fuse boxes and cluttered attics

ive heard crying
bookshelves and binary friend limbo
playground bullies and their mother's
nipples when they were bit in the 90's
all in the shape of noise to come

in uncommon deference
to blow
to blew
to never better
to the shake shake
shaking of basements
on broken foundations

honey you should see the chop of Seneca
and the drowning of dumb
deaf blind Zarathustra

America, the beautiful
Home of the brave
Or so it used to be
Before it became
Home of the selfish and lazy

From sea to shining sea
Once a cape of good hope
Until the tidal patterns shifted
And eroded the shores
Of her dignity

Born American, patriot by choice
Is how the saying goes
But what's a patriot really
If patriotism is measured
By the size of one's collection of faded bumper stickers
(As if bumper stickers would revive us)

Land of the pilgrim's pride
But on this trajectory
We'll soon be
Land of the pilgrim's regret
From every mountainside, let ignorance ring

I cringe to think of what we're reduced to
A hollow shell
Made of fashion and fake money
Nothing keeping us truly alive
Each generation weaker than the one before

                           Please, no more.

Someone speak for all that's good
Do what our leaders never could

My country, 'tis of thee I plead,
Awaken, open your eyes, and see.

the sands of time we  mourn
like moths flickering out
in the flames of my favorite pass time

But even children cry
when the caterpillar begins its change

do unto others i will always say
For
we have yet to transform into something with wings
we have yet to fly

stop crawling towards the fire.

It was last year. What was I doing on a day like today? Was I contemplating the meaning of my Youth, as I do now? It must have been something like that. Now it seems like I simply count away the hours until I slip into my image of adulthood. Eighteen is a powerful number when you have not the slightest idea what might happen in the next two years. After that point, well, I’m not so sure. I hitch-hike to a small town in Arizona. I get a full time job and then what? The snow continues to fall outside. It’s more sleet than anything. I’m thinking of the girl I used to talk to around this time last year and another. Within one was the artwork of old Paris and the other, I pictured in the rave scene of underground Europe. It was strange, I know. I don’t speak to either of them, now. I haven’t in a long time. I’m trying to imagine my journey across America. My longing for new people to meet, with stories about heartbreak and self destruction. Along with my own. I’m nowhere near a novelist, I’ll say that, and as far as being a poet, I’m half of one at most. I hope to meet a woman full of ideas in my travels through Youth. The grand adventure, I would call it. I want to meet modern Hemingways and Wolfes. I imagine this and pour myself a cup of coffee, lighting another cigarette

I feel trapped by these dark heavy clothes. Dreams of nakedness overwhelm my brain, like the waves pass over and over again on the white sandy beaches.  My brown skin glows in the sun like an amazonian running free, like the raging river. Teeth so white peak out from my tanned lips to speak words pure and beautiful. Black hair that flows the curves of my hips and the sultry whispers of the wind. I got feet, that stick to the ground like roots of a tree reaching up, stretching to kiss the humid sky.  I got these legs that carry me on this beautiful land. South America I say in your ear. I have passed the beauty to you now.

Dig down to the simplest part,
The core of any human
From America, Germany, Brazil or Spain
Australia, Uganda, Russia or China
Anywhere you go,
One thing can only be unveiled
That is a great desire.
The desire of food
From every stomach
Calling, searching for just one bite.
The desire for warmth
Without it we lie limp, helpless and meek.
And the strong desire of love
The basis to push off
What supplies the thirst of strength.
Together we are all alike with these needs
We would travel any distant, any obstacle
Just for a sliver of what we all, desire.

I am a traveling salesman
and in my travels I have
sold many a thing
in middle class America,
I sold debt, love, lies,
wasted youth, and forgotten dreams
and none were the wiser
of what I sold.

My travels brought me to
the south of the Rio Grande.
Disease and poverty were
on the first of my list of things
to sell.  Soon, heartbreak, hate,
tyranny, and fleeing for a future
followed,
and none were the wiser
of what I sold.

I traveled to the east, the
exact opposite of where humanity
once tread.  I sold many things there
to people none the wiser.
Racism, genocide, and intolerance
I removed from my bag, and they
received tyranny and fanaticism
for free,
and none were the wiser
of what I sold.

I fled to the north to sell my goods.
The land of former kings provided
a great market for distrust, poverty,
and eventual declines from the great
history the land once knew.
And none were the wiser
of what I sold.

So I went to the last place of my sales
the not-quite-Far East.  And there I found
the best market for civil wars, censorship,
arms sales, rebellions, and most of all,
potential.
And none were the wiser
of what I sold.

And so I fled this world to sell to another
and in my travels, I sold the world
to things leading to destruction.
And none were the wiser
of what I sold.

I live
In America,
in a suburb by the woods
where the city is just a sneeze away,
but just too far to touch.
And the fireworks at the baseball games rattle my windows at night
and the 10:15 train rattles by
on time
every night

She lives
In Japan
in a little town by the sea
I was there once, among the rice and water
and we both biked to school.
And the cranes that loaded the massive ships loomed over our lives
and the hush of a small town woke me
ever
single
night