If Wars were Subject
to Copyright

If wars were subject to a copyright -
Then candidates would have to pay a fee
Each time they appeal to the glorious past
When standing for the election, the proceeds
To fall like ****** manna on the dead
Who can never cash the checks anyway

If wars were subject to a copyright -
Then Hollywood movies should pay their dues
Whenever a bold-scripted commando,
Body-waxed muscles glistening with makeup,
Advances up Hamburger-Helper Hill
With a patriotic song on his lipstick

If wars were subject to a copyright –
The generals’ memoirs, the admirals’, too,
Would pay to lighten the blighted young lives
Of soul-fragmented lads whose pain and blood
Gave the air-conditioned another star
And unctuous applause at the officers’ club

If wars were subject to a copyright -
The President would have to pay his bill
Each time he banged the lectern for a war,
The glorious dux bellorum dux-ing
From the rear, while a squadron of pigs fly
Above, powered by pixie-dust and dreams

A Visitor from Canada

Across the border she discreetly slipped
Not bothering the ICE with paperwork
They’ve got enough to do in their little booths:
“And is this visit for business or for pleasure?”

So here she is, on a bright five-pence piece
All elegant in profile, crowned and just,
Mistaken for a democratic dime
In a handful of republican change

What really is the reason for her visit?
To ‘mind us of our own nobility

let us talk about that moment
where two strangers wake up together,
where reason is no longer dormant
and all the lust evaporated like ether.

and when the sun would rise
and shine on their lost bodies,
they would find theirselves dive
into the light's luscious *****.

because night is their secret keeper,
their key to a lock of dreams and lust,
while day is a cruel truth seeker
which none of them could ever trust.

you'd expect this to be the start
of a fairy tale, a long lasting love story,
starting with breakfast in a tiny mart,
ending with a ring in all its glory.

but then again, let's not be deceived
by the bare skin they shared
and the tension they relieved
during their alcoholic glare...

Because *** is just ***,
Plain and simple, like a treadmill run,
Having nothing to do with love
And everything to do with fun.

With all the thoughts
That you have thought of
And all the dreams
You've ever dreamt

With all your worshipping
Upon everlasting strength

And all your waste of hopes
And poetical lament

With every inner struggle
And every night's torment
You exist to be
Another's denouement.

So don't despair, love,
And end your discontent
For you have a purpose,
As you will have an end.

Life is purchased
with metaphors
you jingled those coins
loaned them to anyone
gave your students
a lift
down alliterative avenues
danced at the front
of the room

The plantation overseer
cruel as dominion allows
stirred your fears
made a ***** in your confidence
Schooled in permitted wrongs
she let the lash fall
on those on whom it is allowed
Indulged her charity
honeyed harms for some
obfuscated raw aggression to others
hooked the faithful
for the delicacy of a minnow glittered soul
because pain like tears
is a universal taste

You rallied and held on.
Recalling the poverty
of the adjunct
you feared falling
through that trap door
Oh faithful moon man
you leapt over the danger
turned fear to comedy
showed us the stairs
with howling laughter
and for a time
climbing the career steps
out of the basement
I tried a Vaudevillian
performance too
at your urging.

You cultivated adoring lines of students
your succulents
yearning for the secret
how to survive
in dry times
how to nourish the roots
when life is scorched
and fragile and taut
You imparted the gift to sustain the soul
to anyone who would listen
a verse on the tongue
is the secret wellspring
and you showed them all
how to find it.