Her stern eyes gaze a four years’ distance
But let this fact be duly noted
She claims to be of The Resistance -
But has she ever, ever voted?

A day where

nothing fits.

lying in my room

sifting through

gypsy thoughts

of running away

to perform in a

carnival

with you.


getting a little

annoyed with

my pillow and the

fat cat sleeping

in the middle

of it.


listening

for your voice,

but I can't

hear it.

and just over

the hill,

I travel

maybe today

I will arrive.

anywhere

that is away

from here.


I would love

to  topple the

highest building

In this concrete city

to the ground.

and plant flowers

and gardens on it's

concrete floors

and knock out

its cold concrete

windows with a stone,


caught between

the greys

and whites

of down town

Los Angeles,


wondering how

anyone ever

escapes from

this place

alive.

For Young Artists, Musicians, Scientists, Poets, and Philosophers

Be strong in your Pixies, for some will say
That you are wasting your time on fantasy
When you should be laboring hard all day
As servant to some old master’s machinery

Be strong in your Pixies, yes, even when
You are all grown up, and have a great career
Dream still again each magic forest and glen
And keep your Pixie-knowledge close and clear

Be strong in your Pixies, and sometimes glance
Back to that moonlit realm, where Pixies dance

If these fingers touched ink,
let what flows be
untainted and true;
unsmeared and sure.

If these hands mould clay,
let what is made be sturdy.
Be uncracked,
unblemished
and smooth like porcelain.

If this body pivots upon legs,
let it stand upright and tall.
So no wind could fell it down.
But should it topple,
let no earth will it shatter.

If this mind invites another,
let no thought nor idea
adulterate its own...
For its ways may wind
and meander,
but it is obstinate.

If this heart still beats,
no matter how faint...
Let its rhythm be steady
and unrelenting.
So it might echo
through long days
and moonless nights
to find others like it.

Then,
I may not feel so alone.

Do you ever wonder
if the painter
tires of his colors?

Expect no pity as you fall and fall
Weighed down by the medals you gave yourselves
Through your closed loops of self-congratulation
In your officers’ clubs and private planes

You led us from the sky and from the rear
Secure in air-conditioned bunkers sealed
Against pollution by heat and dust and rot
And the uncollected bodies of the dead

Expect no pity as you fall and fall
Weighed down by your accumulated wealth
Through your closed loops of self-congratulation
In boardrooms and governments and private planes

You sacrificed us for your resumes -
You’re out of single-malt; now go away