There have always been people like us.
On an oasis
Back a thousand years
One hundred thousand
Camel caravans converge
A gathering of the tribes.
We have always made fires together
To sit around and talk around and dance around
And sing.
We have always lived simple
In open places
Giving thanks and praises.
We have always held our children
In the center of the circle,
All  of them our children.
And age upon age
We are always tagged for slaughter
They have tried to rub us out
Don’t doubt it we are dangerous
With our wild hair and loose limbs
Walking working dancing standing  
Always saying YES
and then YES again

Who the first man
Who greedily decreed
This patch of earth or that
His alone?
Who built a wall and an army
Then to defend it? Whose ‘no’ echoes
On the canyon walls
Of this vast waste?
We always have been
The potentest threat to his claim
And he knows it.
For we are stewards,
We understand relation,
interpenetration
O we are sexy!
We live in plenty
On next to nothing
For always
We have each other.
And although every time
We are mowed down
Or picked off one by one,
We are a tough, profuse, and vibrant weed-
We keep coming back,
Always have
Always will.
See, we win.
There have always been people like us.

A man chooses one from the flock
and  then she’s his
because that’s how a man is.

She will be bashful and leap
from his clasp
and say ‘no’ many times
but she can’t resist his
tender certainty,
the way he pursues her
hill and valley and stream,
for long.
It is to her as if there is a thing
he  knows and holds for both-

It smells of man and woman
musk and jasmine, it’s the smell
that stops her first.
If a man is a man a woman can
rise and shine for him.
She will nuzzle his neck
and lick his face.

Ode to  Kissinger

Each day now a new ghoul is disinterred
Pressed into service of new world order
He trails his putrid stench with each footfall,
Here to assure us? lay our fears to rest?
His creds are after all impeccable:
Chile a torture chamber and Pnomh Penh
Sabra, Shatillah, cities of the dead.

They say that every woman loves a thug
The boot in the face, the Bushmaster
Pressed against the breast yes we surrender
Led like tender lambs to the slaughter.
To the survivors is left the horror.
They count upon our fear to silence us.
They gloat and brag, at last they have a lock,
They’ve conjured up the war that never ends.
Our best friends yesterday our enemies.
Look, my people, it’s 1933.

It’s hard to give credence to what we see.
How bad, after all, could they really be?
Imagination fails us, history
Is what we struggle not to remember.
And what are those of us who do to do?
Like gil-scott sing, keep movin for what’s true.
And bob, we jam until the jammin’s through.

These days, to tell the truth is blasphemy.
Blaspheme than, blasphemers and have no fear:
The biggest secret is that they are done .
And know it. And thus their desperation.
Sometimes you know things just ain’t what they seem.
He who laugh last children is he who win.

                    Necropolis                       12/14/02

In days condemned for their barbarity
the king, as stand-in for the Deity
was sacrificed,and all his retinue
was buried alive with him in his tomb
This necropolis spanned acres. The eunuchs,
wives and servants clearly died badly,
Clutching each other, palms over faces.
They died so that the earth could continue,
the river flood, crops grow, camels watered.
Understanding this they went willingly.

Today the millions die so that the king
may continue, that those whom he holds dear
will be well-fed. Crops wither, earth sickens,
we don’t know what to do with all the dead
and they do not go to their fates gladly.
Abomination of desolation,
how long are we to bear it? A city
of the dead. Surely this is blasphemy.
Barbarity unimagined by those
who lay down and let themselves be erased.

They knew a thing that’s been forgot. The price
will be paid
if we remember
or not.

This newest permutation of ancient conspiracy
with imperial fantasy
of world ascendancy
looks like a clown convention to me.
my, these boys love to play.
The catchy logo of the new
Information Awareness Office  IAO
is the good old Masonic pyramid, its hairy eyeball
shooting lurid yellow beam
over an unsuspecting little earth:
"Scientia est Potentia"  written underneath
knowledge is power. Well of course.
IAO-"I am the Alpha and the Omega."
Now there’s some balls.
Apparently they think their big bad
New World Order is in the bag.
They manipulate images
Put finishing touches on oily messages,
But the bag is leaking all over
Its greasy contents smearing everything.
Of the true juju behind those symbols they flaunt
They know not. Not a clue.
If they did, like me and you
they would breathe into peace,
see enough everything for everybody
and be mad lovers.
They don’t look like lovers, not much,
so gray, so overstuffed.
Look the best they can do
is to hold off the new earth coming
this way, impervious to their cartoon ray.
Their silly suits, their sad eyes,
their wizard hats and magic wands-
I think it’s time
we laughed ‘em out of town.             Don’t you?

America
America does not love ideas
O no America does not love ideas.
America does not like to be sober. Not much.
America loves to leap before America looks.
America just cannot sit still.
America hates history, hates to be reminded
That causes have effects.
America cannot abide those who observe that her chickens
Have come home to roost.
America will pay anything for the illusion of safety,
Yet America is still afraid and can’t figure out why
But that’s an idea and like I said
America does not love ideas---
America busy anyways fixin her makeup.
She will sacrifice practically anything
Not to reflect, not to think long.
America is afraid of the dark.
After all America is the City on a Hill
The muscular might the brilliant thrusting light
Of a distant Deity
And America insists there is no downside to any of this
Of this America.
America don’t need to play by anyone’s rules,
America is America after all.
America says America loves freedom
While giving away as much of it as possible
As quick as possible. Freedom- But nobody feels free
Because there is much, much America refuses to see
America is quick to anger, impatient, and unkind.
America loves gas-gulping cars
Dehumanized sex and bling.
America loves varaiation after variation
Of the same old fucking thing.
America loves distractions and diversions of all kinds
Cuz America can’t stand her own mind.