it was suggested
that there be no nexus
between texas and your pal-
omino - tagging the alamo, **?

en el barrio, yo(u)-
and your gringa  homecoming
queen in tight-assed jeans
-running with ms-13?

-playing twister with your hipster
sisters misters smith & wesson
oiled up and and ready to go
- new mexico?

i found you in tres piedras
at a place called ortega's
eating huevos rancheros
- shooting jose cuervo?

-muthafucka mara salvatruchas
in a red camaro and two bruthas
on a burro with bow and arrows
-stole your palomino?

-they shoot horses
don't they?

riding the black el camino
-on the blue mesa.

r ~ 9/30/14

It's raining luck
And I'm sitting here under an umbrella

We are locked in this state of paralysed rage
for the powers that have come to be,
with their newspeak lies
and corporate ties,
they'll poison the sky and the sea.

Wherever you will go,
my mind will follow,
there's no shame in feeling weak,
when everything's looking so bleak.

Cop on the beat, we look to believe
that everything is in control.
No divisions of wealth,
your own mental health;
nothing is ever your fault.

Still, they come to say all this hard work will pay,
though your bedsheets are made out of lead,
so forget your disease,
get dirt on your knees,
and take this for your troubled little head.

Wherever you will go,
my mind will follow,
I have been writing these letters to say,
I hope everything's coming your way.

And it's all comin' down, like a surgical gown
replaced with a new lease of living.
Palestinian fields,
reinvented wheels,
and the churches won't lock their doors.

You see, the baby boomers, the white-men-in-suits,
they're a dying breed don't you know?
So keep saluting the sun,
the race isn't run;
I gave up worrying long ago.

Wherever you will go,
my mind will follow,
but if you're looking for a real kind of love,
stop looking to the skies above.

Wherever you will go,
you've got my heart in tow.
Now I'm sober,
all I can see
is the simplicity of you and me.

If only the whole world could be
as simple as you and me.

Sleep, sleep,
still your breath
and just sleep.
Sleep through
the drum-circle,
the neighbour's garden,
sleep through
the fever,
the sentence,
and the eventual pardon.

Sleep, sleep,
blot your eyes
and just sleep.
Sleep through
her hands touching,
the solemn submit;
sleep through
the wastelands,
the war-zones,
and sleep with the deficit.

Sleep, sleep,
in the castle keep, sleep.
Sleep for the potions,
the poisons,
the crimes you commit.
Too steep is the gangway
to an easier life,
too far is the leap
and too impossible, the wife.

Sleep, sleep,
still your mind
and just sleep.
Keep to
the sidelines,
with intellect deep;
fall to sleep
in the limelight
of your  day,

for you have
earned your rest,
you have found your way.

i love you this morning
it's a come home safe morning
fog on the road
& no seatbelt kind of morning
the sun is over easy
& nothing's on fire
there's punctuation
where i don't want it
and extra love
in the glovebox of my car
been thinking about being honest
how these poems are all me
but they tell the story
how someone else
might believe it happened
within reasonable doubt
no copy & pasted love letters
no 'who ever says hello first gets my attention for the day'
try a little tenderness
in my ears and today
there are instruments
in the back of my head
i think you love me
because i'm sunburned
felt it in a 'come hell or high water' kinda way, that 'touched from far away' kinda way that 'if i touch this piano one more time one of us is going to break' kinda way
and i drove over 17 bridges yesterday and today i'll do it again
and i think nobody gets
what that means except maybe you
i just tell them i love the scenery
that somebody must've made
these trees blush just for me
you know how i love
to change the subject
i bet they'd love the view
i bet you would too
and all these metaphors
for other things are beside the point
this is a metaphor
for why i don't wear my seatbelt
a metaphor for why whiskey
knows me better than you
could ever try to
all the buildings seemed to sag yesterday and all the stars
are doing that cliche thing
where they talk
quiet jet noise
& some lumbering giant
made everything shake
not those hand metaphors
not another one of those
& keep the sea to yourself
i think it was a train
it's sound hugged the embankment
for a moment
and then trailed off into nowhere
and that's kind of like me
how there's a town called 'rescue'
close to my home &
it's no coincidence
that i've never been there