what am i now but an old man
stopping along the way misremembering.

my grandchildren breaking windows and shaking cans
at strangers troubling me more in the retelling
than on the day i witnessed it from my refuge.

i'll tell tales

of bulldozed supplicants who kneel
to differing vision of jesus living in bombed rooms among ruin,
static in the crosshairs of empires dismembered.

half eaten meals deserted on kitchen tables exposed by the violence
like a diorama in a child's report in a school held nightly
in a subway station.

tales of

copses of lovely trees smelling of pine needle and rosin
and decay
that will never be cleaned from the forest floor,
but forever identified with the names and the number of dead.
points on maps sounding odd to my ear and tongue
that will become synonym, cause and anthem.

of speeches spewed recklessly
bereft of detail and fact meant to raise the volume.
stories told by obvious and admitted liars
shamelessly to grab the attention,
as vast wealth applied with pinpoint accuracy
is able to convince the beguiled of the purity of the beguiler.

and as we send to bed sons and daughters, ours and their, to sleep
in flag draped rows beneath flowers and plaster icons,
we will follow and anoint vanity,
and know that

we must write what we can before time,
money and the victor,
who'll recast our memories telling us what we should remember,
light the flames against people
who look just like us in the eyes of god.

Water and loose gravel
Tumble down mountains.
Stems, leaves, and branches
Grow toward the sun
And sway with the breeze.
Stalactites form and drip,
While stalagmites grow below.
When lava has nowhere else to go,
It bursts through the surface of the earth.
The planets spin and turn,
The stars burn and send light flying,
The ocean spits out dead things.
Objects in motion continue moving forward
Forever.
Everything in nature
Follows the path of least resistance
Including mankind.
Every path was forged,
Every rail road was built,
Every highway was paved
Because it was easier than the alternative.
Every skyscraper went up,
Every paycheck went down,
Every war was fought
Because it was easier than the alternative.
Imaginary lines were drawn,
Around everyone and everything,
And we learned to believe they were real
Because it was easier than the alternative.
We followed the path of least resistance
And now everything is easy.
Being so poor that you can’t afford food is easy.
Living with disease and cancer,
Rotting from the inside out
Because you can’t afford to go to the hospital is easy.
Getting bullied, harassed, and beaten
Because you act or look different is easy.
Getting ***** without ever seeing
A shred of justice or remorse is easy.
Being gunned down by the very people
Who promised to serve and protect you is easy.
Everything in nature
Follows the path of least resistance
Including mankind.
Objects in motion
Continue moving forward
Forever…
Unless they are
Compelled to change direction
By an external force.

She’s a dimple and a drag, corner of Worth and Magpie, French Vogue idioms and her mother’s red flowery hoop earrings. Aloha! Aloha! Oopty-oops in contract loot thru streets and backyard parties, concrete larders, her eyes lie like presidential promises, a slipknot of licorice around her neckline to keep her rising tide from the Menarche Moon.

Anything to keep the little penny featherweight dancer from slipping. Her siblings poke fun at her funny way of speaking, her bath tub is just an excuse for chiseling at her innards, taking a drag at her lungs and punching her duck-billed platypus in the kidneys; a heavy-weight champion of the worm.

That until all the saints come writhing off the fishing lines. Until the ballerina’s edema coexists with Tokyo extremists, serial killer behemoths that keep body parts and *** toys in the freezer. Here, here! Wrath goes to the fella with the wicked demeanor. In an area of limited sight, this country, it’s people are sickened at the sights of themselves, and the wackos are coming out in large swaths, minerals and dimples strapped to their waist belts in the throes of a menopausal demagogue heaving OxyContin down El Camino Real.