An American flag

the old man
swinging from a live oak tree,
combing his fake orange hair
like a wild chimpanzee
looking for a trap door score,
is still rolling on his golden bedroom floor.
he doesn't mind the latest news:
he's standing tall in Brooks Brother's shoes,
all the way to the Texas coast
with crazy cowboys he loves the most.
these are the days when cash is king
and dirty rats refuse to sing!
the local crowd sitting at the local bar
stood to look but couldn't see far:
an American flag
with a Made in China tag
tried to stand but couldn't rise
weighted down by countless lies.
on the sacred beach a soldier died,
his widow and her children cried.
the white tombstones buried in foreign sand,
dreaming of the promised land
far from the homeland shore:
they weren't marching home no more.
clever lawyers kept writing in their books,
covering tracks from inquiring looks.
bags of money and a fashion show honey
in a tower passing minutes and an hour
while around the block
a shepherd, searching for his flock,
shook the ground as he walked,
listening as the boastful old man talked.
each word a lie scattered into thin air,
meant to hide the truth everywhere.
the old man
swinging from a live oak tree,
combing his fake orange hair
like a wild chimpanzee
looking for a trap door score,
is still rolling on his golden bedroom floor.
he doesn't mind the latest news:
he's walking tall in Brooks Brother's shoes,
all the way to the Texas coast
with crazy cowboys he loves the most.
these are the days when cash is king
and dirty rats refuse to sing!
the local crowd sitting at the local bar
stood to look but couldn't see far.
An American flag has a Made in China tag.

watching caravans of immigrants

i see new blood on the early winter snow
and lost souls
looking for a better path to follow.
i can't speak the tongue!
am i simply too young
or willfully old?
with my poisoned lungs, perhaps i'm the spy in from the cold,
in a country of all things
constantly bought and sold,
watching caravans of immigrants bringing their young children and tiny sprigs of hope:
not tattooed criminals with illegal bags of dope,
climbing the high wire, scaling the border wall,
seeking answers before their fall,
much like another group once before
seeking justice from shore to shining shore
but the native Indians are mostly dead:
the buffalo soldiers took their land and their horses and i can't remember
what the Great White Father said.
those words are on a page but i can't find the history book!
millions of eyes are searching but where exactly should they look?
a young man is swimming across the Rio Grande river;
in the heat of summer i can see him shiver.

Phnom Penh

Phnom Penh
was hot as hell and filled with the nervous shadows
of dry bones and sick smiles
on the narrow streets of blood and broken glass,
memories of ancient temples
and the smell of escaping elephant shit
floating on the monsoon junk of another endless day
filled with acrid war smoke and sour piss,
as Kissinger sat in his cloistered Washington office
surrounded by his ass-kissing apparatchiks
who demurred when he plotted an invasion across a neutral border
with his tanks and his guns and his bombs and his helicopters
to bring random death and mayhem and marauding murder
to the rice paddies and the huts of peasants
speaking a language Henry never understood,
with power his only purpose.

remembering how i lied

okay miss Mary Lou!
i won the race,
so how about you?
it snowed as i drove hard,
skidded and slide
into your front yard.
you took a cold look;
took another hard sip,
and closed your book.
i handed you my letter.
it simply said
i was finally feeling better.
you gave me a stern gaze
before saying
that crime never pays,
and i knew that
as i sat
by your side,
remembering how i lied.

the boy from Manhattan and Miss Mary Lou

oh, i'm heading uptown;
gonna try keeping my baby bottle down!
feeling so smart,
holding onto my heart;
gonna get me another battery jump start
heading to the next Apprentice show,
onto the nearest street corner where i need to go,
where i heard about the boy from Manhattan.
he came to a party dressed in freshly pressed silks and polished satin;
loved his glittering gold and bought and sold
handsome new Miss Mary Lou
who
talked like a girl from the deepest south,
or was she a foreigner with a slippery tongue swimming inside her mouth?
she walked the straightest line in her latest fashion and sharp high heels,
looking for a sugar daddy to buy all her next meals;
she wanted a fast ride and he had the wheels,
all shiny silver and black;
he had his and wasn't giving any back!
Miss Mary Lou took him by his favorite arm;
he flashed a sullen smile and went looking for some charm.
he called the press and told them the greatest news:
he wanted Miss Mary Lou and she couldn't say no or refuse,
changing all his stripes and his Wharton School underwear;
she eventually said she loved him but in the end he didn't care,
oh, i'm heading uptown;
gonna try keeping my baby bottle down!
feeling so smart,
holding onto my heart;
gonna get me another battery jump start
heading to the next Apprentice show,
onto the nearest street corner where i need to go.