flags
if I could play guitar
I'd sing a sad, sad song
for all the fiery red anarchists
of yesteryear
who threw bombs at the police in alleys
assassinated kings and presidents
and drew funny little cartoons
about hanging the Pope
all those lost souls
raging with idealism
now forgotten as ferns
in this modern world of McDonald's
and Godzilla remakes
all those poor anarchists
each with a heart bigger than
all of Wall Street
each and every one
crushed under the boots
of the Bolsheviks
or hanged
after the police opened fire
on each other
at Haymarket Square
all of them murdered
shot
destroyed
gutted
while the Gods marched
in lock-step with the fascists
it's all so sad
too sad to remember
or write about
as the 1% finish the job
they started
under
Truman.
at the end
when the high noon of humanity
is forgotten
when all that's left of their shit-stupidness
is dim fading memories
when the sun turns red
before the endless summer night
of the Siddhas
at the end
there will only be left
the Buddha-soul:
beautiful,
perfect,
all-knowing;
like blossoms in the eyes of Gods.
the indispensable nation
if you ever find a human skull
just lying around
somewhere
bury it in the ground
and maybe it'll sprout
an olive tree
maybe it'll grow
a pair of black wings
and fly off with the crows
all the way to India
where 3000 years ago
some Goddess
laid her body down
to become a river
turning desert to forest
for the people
or maybe the skull
would feel more at home
in Cambodia
joining the mountains
of human skulls
erected by Pol Pot
and paid for by Uncle Sam.
lights out
typing away into the darkness
the window is open
the moon hides her face in shame
and the ghosts of Murder, Inc.
still haunt the streets of New York
millions of Bolsheviks died
fighting the Nazis
I watch Britney Spears
shaking her big white ass
on YouTube
the only monster under the bed
is my own memories
I tell Moloch to rise up
and smite the world
a siren screams into the night
I recall Mickey Rourke
slaughtering all those people
in Angel Heart
and the first lezzie video
I ever saw
I guess my only revenge
is murders on the local news
fatal car accidents
and flesh-eating bacteria
in swimming holes
the moon flashes a sly
white smile
I beg the Buddha's forgiveness
and ask him to teach me
about forgetting.
some might say …
that insanity is a kind of freedom
but I remember it as a prison
my mind was both inmate and jailer
and the windows let in only
a terrible sun
I wondered how it had come to this state
and realized that, yes
hell is other people
or, to put it another way
most people are shit
I remember a boy (not me)
who stuck needles into his arms
at school every day—
if you'd known his family
you'd understand—
perhaps the best thing,
as some suggest,
would be
to just start killing people
but that's still a kind of giving up
and I remember one of the few friends
I had
his name was Randy
and everybody was afraid of him
and I remember what he often said to me
and anyone else who was around:
fuck everybody.
newsfront
watching a report on Al-Jazeera
about all the massacres
that NATO troops are committing
in Afghanistan
wiping out whole families
and I realized
there is no justice in this world
no God to protect the weak
and the innocent—
there's only power
and bodies strewn across
so many bloody floors.
daisy
the winter sun going down
over the rooftops
like a dying warrior
a little blonde girl runs by
maybe 7 or 8 years old
I hear my neighbor talking
with someone on the phone
he's an old man
running for the grave
some day even
that little girl will be
kissing the roots of the daisies
or filling some urn with her ashes
and she'll be replaced
by new little girls
everything passes
like the sun going down
then coming back up
in the glorious eternal dawn.
Bob Dylan is dead
that was the rumor I heard
turned out it wasn't true
not yet anyway
Bob's one helluva true spirit
like Johnny Cash was
(he really is dead)
and John Lennon (him too)
I think we true spirits
(and there ain't many of us)
all end up in the same
starry psychedelic Buddha
dynamo where we'll crank out
the cotton candy poetry
of the Gods till the end of
time or we'll end up in Hell
(even more fun)
and we'll be the demons
tying bankers and other
war criminals
to barber shop poles
and we get to shoot at their
genitals with BB guns
O whatever it is
and where-ever it is
let it come, let it come
just don't make me
spend eternity
with the Mormons.
the snowflakes sutra
train galloping through the night
I had a dream
of sitting Shiva-style beside
an ocean of wisdom
—some Hawaiian resort
I heard people's voices from
somewhere
a sliver of white moon
was piercing the heart of the night
it was then I realized
that all of the Buddha's words
come down to three golden rules
light and perfect
as snowflakes in the air:
help others;
harm no one;
free your mind.
three lines
containing all the knowledge of the world
—when I woke up
the train had passed.
a fate worse than death
when you're
workin
for
minimum
wage
you're workin
for food
and shelter
and when
you're workin
for food
and shelter
you're a slave
I used to slave
away
at factories
where
the lighting
was so poor
you could
barely
keep
your hands
outta the
machinery
they used to
make me
run 40 hrs.
a week
in places
where it
got so hot
I thought
I'd end up
drowning
in my own
sweat
every day
felt like
a slow death
but somehow
I survived
so take it
from me:
minimum
wage
is modern-
day
slavery
and if
you don't
believe me
then go
and try it
yourself
sometime.
dusk
night falling over the city
I see the red lights
of phantom cars
and the people inside
don't know me
I wonder who I am myself
why I'm here
what it's all for
and where do the homeless
go at night when the shelters
are full?
and maybe this is where
the spirit drifts
when the body dies
where it's always twilight
always warm
and no-one
ever has to sleep
on the streets.
the American dead in Afghanistan
the white trash let their dogs run around
in the street
I can't even go for a walk anymore
there's American flags everywhere
the other day
I was sitting at a picnic table
when two of them sat down
at the other end
after listening to their white trash conversation
for a while
I was forced to get up
and go sit somewhere else—
another indignity
I wondered what I ever did to the Gods
to deserve this
when I got home
I turned on my PC
read about the latest American dead in Afghanistan
that made me feel a bit better.
it's Christmas time, again
they say
that America
is
broke
no money
for
schools
hospitals
the poor
etc.
but somehow
there's always
money
for bombing
other nations
invading
other nations
supporting
right-wing terrorists
around the globe
oh, yes
there's always
money
for all those
goodies
on Uncle Sam's
wish list
so
the Pentagon media
is always
filling
the airwaves
with the latest paranoid
bullshit
about
“illegals”
suicide bombers
and the Russians are coming
and the rest of it:
but there's at least
one idiot
who ain't fallin for it:
I hope
all the troops
come home with
ebola.
poem for Fidel's birthday
Jack and Bobby
tried to assassinate Fidel Castro
instead
Jack and Bobby
got whacked
and today is August 13th, 2014
—Fidel's 88th birthday!
Fidel is one of those men
whose words and deeds
shake the world
bring down thunder and storm
from the sky
and maybe the man
with the long fuzzy beard
and the white dove on his shoulder
still has many years ahead of him
maybe someday he'll spread the revolution
al norte to all the lands
illegally occupied by the Anglos
so that freedom and socialism
may finally spread like flowers
over all the lands of the earth—
we can only hope.
cell phone videos
all you cops
who beat down
the Occupy
protesters
all over America
with yr billy-clubs
cuffed them and
pepper-spayed them
in the eyes:
I want to thank you
for reminding us all
what a bunch
of thugs and goons
most cops are
showing
the taxpayers
what their money
goes for:
the next time
I eat pork chops
or fried bacon strips
I'll be thinking
of all you pigs in blue.
probation
her office
was nice enough
I sat down
on the wooden chair
in front of her desk
she had short red hair
and big tits
in a white sweater
talked with
a Southern drawl
told me that I needed to
get a job
I looked out
the window at all
the sunlight
falling down
on the rooftops
she got up
to get some file
from her cabinet
she had a big round ass
in blue jeans
she had everything
I wanted
but I sure as hell
didn't want no goddam
job
I wondered
what she looked like
naked.
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