in the scheme of things

dead pigs in the barnyard
stink,
tossing everything
at their former life but the kitchen sink,
hanging a blackboard on their
bedroom walls,
hearing their captain make his final calls
before the line went dead!
nothing could be remembered of what
was said
or what was done
before the loading of the biggest gun
and all the marching bands stopped,
playing their national notes
while watching the boarding of the immigrant boats,
all setting sail for the new world,
each holding dear to the lucky number seven,
dreaming of a future kingdom of Heaven
and a free fish bowl
from the nearest county fair,
hoping to break even and breathe freedom's air:
i saw a fleeting comet shoot
across the sky
while standing atop a rocky outcrop
with one sure eye
peering into my telescope;
did i see a message from a Roman God,
a prophesy of hope
or simply a shimmering motion in the scheme of things?

long kisses and short near misses

in the backyard pool
she looked at me
and i'm no fool
it was just her and i
underneath an east coast late summer night sky
and that damn high board would be my first chance
to do a mighty swan dive and maybe a triple backflip dance
to land in her waiting arms
full of promising adventure and mysterious jungle charms
i'd be a young Superman and she'd be Wonder Woman
swimming down the waterfalls to where all the mighty rivers meet
drying ourselves with soothing body heat
and i didn't really know what was in store
but we both left wanting more
a special song we'd sing and a movie we both love
long kisses and short near misses
maybe a bite to eat and laughs in the dimly-lit backseat
walking together where the pretty flowers bloom
together each night in our own bedroom
remembering how to swim when the lights turned low
and there was no where else we'd rather go.

evermore

there were helicopters buzzing in the air
and automatic rifle shots,
people scrambling, screaming everywhere;
a fallen child;
a dangerous madman in black armor running wild!
warm blood flooding the hot street;
midnight heat;
slipping feet,
their dreams for the future flailing on the El Paso ground;
an empty exhaling sound
of hopeful promises newly lost that never would be found
over and over again like random pieces of shattered glass
cutting short every sacred Sunday mass;
a reluctant revolving American door
in constant motion sounding evermore
seeming to say there is no end to the endless hate-filled war:
melting pot?
more like soul rot.