Try Again

She’s going to cry
but don’t ask any questions
Stop and stay
or go away
just go away

Warm air and cold feet
the old man’s bones are creaking
What did you say
about life
going on?

Wipe your fingers on your shirt
clean the stains from your hands
Drink some water
have an aspirin
try again

Someone is screaming
but the door slams closed
Run up the stairs
and open the window
it can be done

Are you all right?
I don’t know
What do you need?
They don’t bother me
but that’s not true

Wipe your fingers on your shirt
clean the stains from your hands
Drink some water
have an aspirin
try again

Making Mar-A-Lago Face in the Bar

     I was in a sleazy local bar drinking gin and listening to the band, Loose Change and Whiskey, stumble through another round of twelve bar blues. That’s when I saw her – her face pulled taut and tight like a catcher’s mitt. Leather face and swollen lips like an inflated parade balloon. Her blond hair was piled high in a heap on top of her head. She wore some stars and stripes emblazoned blouse with spangles and sequins. She signaled to the bartender for another rum and coke.

    This bizarre, inverted peahen was signaling her MAGA reproductivity with collagen and silicone. She sipped at her drink and made eyes at me. At least that’s what I assume she was trying to. She didn’t blink. I don’t think she could. And her eyebrows didn’t move. The face-lift and Botox injections didn’t leave her face with much flexibility.

    I nodded, not because I was interested, only offering the basest level of civility. She misconstrued, however, and came around the bar to where I was sitting. “F – Yeah!” she shouted over the music. “I love this place.”

    Up close her orange spray tan skin looked like a terrible leather sofa. Worn. Old and sat upon. “It’s great,” I said – being polite but nothing more. I sipped my gin attentively. She took the hint, but didn’t like it.

    “Well get outta’ my goddamned way if you don’t like it here,” she snarled.

    But I could see it all carved into her plastic surgery – political conformity under the scalpel’s edge – whiplash chaos and her gleeful willingness – her eager anticipation – to shoot trespassers and illegal immigrants. It’s not a reluctant, if it must be done, attitude She wants to do it. She’s waiting for the chance to shoot first and ask questions later. Deport the immigrants. Shoot the misperceived threat before it can become real. She wouldn’t mourn it as a failure. She wouldn’t grieve it as a loss and loss of life. She will celebrate and ask for more. And she would cross state lines to do it.

    “Feed them to the alligators” is her new “feed them to the lions.” Cruelty is the point. For her pleasure. For her satisfaction and her joy. Given half a chance, I’m sure she’d buy a packet of lynch tree postcards.

    “Kick ass!” she shouted, spilling her drink as Loose Change and Whiskey finished their song then she turned to me. “You’re just another whiny bitch brainwashed dumbass liberal cuck, aren’t you?” she said but her lips never moved.

Thunder and Violence

     Thick and humid. I’m all but wearing the air out here today. And I have extra far to go today. Is there thunder? (Yes and Amen. Let it be.)

    On the radio: “Call out the agents and kill the journalists and lawyers that won't comply with our orders. This is the dollar deal.” But the power is blown and the lights go dark. Blackout audience flashlights in the teargas. He’s watching the streets from the thirtieth floor window of the high tower like some Babylonian king.

    This is mild suicidal violence on a national scale. A toxic topic that we will not discuss. The state patrol is a performance. They’re out as a show of force. A demonstration from the demon Stration. There will be fireworks, but no fireflies tonight.

    “Aim for the protesters on their faggy bicycles. Watch it now. We’re not just kicking dogs here. They’re sick people, radical left lunatics. Why can’t we shoot them. Stack the bodies now, figure it out later.”

    This just goes on and on. Doesn’t it? Every day like this. Today even more. And more to come.

    “Let God be true and every man else a liar. Worse and worse, deceiving and being deceived. I am your salvation. I am your hope. This doctrine is profitable. And we’re all about the profit. Profit and power. It’s me or nothing and you are nothing to me. Burn one hundred. Burn another one. Let them burn if they won't be true. We need no woke lethality laws. My words or nothing. Anything else doesn’t exist or it is a lie.”

    These things may not be true. I don’t remember. And it’s so hard to tell anymore. Is there thunder? (Yes and Amen. Let it be.) Two democratic lawmakers shot with their spouses in Minnesota. An aggressive act, a blow to kill a smaller man, a smaller woman. Kicked and punched and drinking cough syrup. Covered in broken glass. A bloody bandage and a shattered window. They won’t be content until we’re all dead and choking on the ashes of the world. How far fringe are the voices of violence? Never far enough.

    The shooter was impersonating a police officer. ACAB – especially the cosplay officers. A politically motivated assassination. Evangelical Christians making enemies hit list. Blamed for the moral decay of his home and native land. Security patrols. Overseas security consultant. Mercenary. Assassin.

    A man in a trench coat. In this heat. Someone’s going to notice. This humidity. They’re going to see him. But as a police officer? Ask yourself why? And Why not? Unlocking doors. Security guns. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. Ambush broad strokes.

    Message from my brother – he’s walked downtown to find a protest to join. Oh, and that he’s borrowed my War Resisters Organization Manual. “Home later. If I’m not arrested.”I wish there was something more I could give him. I wish there was something more I could say. I can’t stop what is falling apart. I’m trying to write on the move. I am staying ahead of the time and the clock. Hoping to stay ahead of the men with clubs and batons. Recording my thoughts and prayers as I move in my illegible handwriting.

    Organize forward support. Stay in the shade and shadows whenever possible. J’ai besoin des medecine et l’eau.

    “Learn the truth about why the left has left and the right is right.” I’ve heard them on the radio. On the news. I hear them everywhere. “Democrats are boasting that they’re going to win. They should be boasting about their prisons. About the darkness. They are beyond the pale and behind the veil. Ignorant and proud of their own conceits. Our enemies of unbelief, without mercy.”

    Is there thunder? (Yes and Amen. Let it be.)

    Will there be lightning? (Please and thank you. Amen.) Let that delay or postpone them. If only for a time. Let it rain, Lord.

    21,813 steps. 11.0 Miles

The Locusts Are Coming

Moving my hands in physical space
You seem surprised when I touch your face
I’m running so slow that I can’t win the race

Light travels fast but not instantly
The reflection in the mirror’s what I used to be
I’d open my eyes but I don’t want to see

Your memory comes back along with the pain
It’s funny how it comes back again and again
But later this afternoon it just might rain

Looking for purpose in history
Trying to find evidence of injury
Overlapping patterns of tragedy

A hundred-thirty degrees and rising higher
Who is the dictator, who’s the liar?
It’s hard to believe in this ceasefire

The golden age of America begins right now
But don’t press for details, don’t ask how
And anything we’ve said we’ll disavow

The rich have it all and they still want more
Judges are bribed to cheat the poor
We’re already losing the next civil war

Come on, little baby, let me hear you sing
Do what I tell you, don’t change a thing
The locusts are coming with scorpion sting

A Man Like That?

     Does a man like that – a lying, vain, arrogant narcissist – a man with his history – of fraud, of racism and misogyny – want peace? Does a man like that really believe the things he says? Why should you believe the things he says? The president lies and repeats the lies of others. Who is the liar? Who is the dictator? He’s a fair bit of both.

    We are vulnerable all. Cutting down fires. Digging up cities. Plows and bulldozers moving the earth. Infected populations on the move. Virus vectors around the globe. One hundred and thirty degrees and rising higher. Reliably recorded and burst into flames. Too many tragedies coming too frequently. Seizing assets, appropriating income, usurping all. These are the criminal beginnings. Russia, Israel, Iran, the US of A, et al. deliberately bombing civilian structures – apartments, hospitals, churches too. Call it what it is: Genocide.

    Seal the book. Steal the book and go away. Closed up and sealed until the end of time. Sealed up and closed until the time of the end. But live by the Word and we could believe you. The words spoken by angels demand more than you have to offer. Preach the plain truth. Prove the message straight. It’s late, but we can begin again.