you don't want to soil your tie

alone at dawn
you don't know when she rose
with her hair brilliant black
but she's never coming back
and that's a probable fact
you're left with an open book
you're still squirming on the hook
hung up with an ugly history
it's part of your story
inside a hole of imagined glory
old cotton-picking shoes
and delta blues
it's seldom what you read in the evening news
sipping coffee and tea shipped all the way from China
you don't want to soil your tie
eating mouthfuls of Motherland and apple pie
you never wonder why
it's always other people's children who die!
four score and a house of dedicated brick
it's a battlefield where everyone is getting sick
take your pick:
Indians with their tents
landlords collecting their rents
junkyards with dents
kings and presidents
you're climbing the border fence
eight miles high and still no end in sight
you have your own kite
red and blue and pearly white
the string is tight
you think it's your birthright
alone at dawn
you don't know when she rose
with her hair brilliant black
but she's never coming back
and that's a probable fact
you're left with an open book
you're still squirming on the hook
hung up with an ugly history
it's part of your story
inside a hole of imagined glory
old cotton-picking shoes
and delta blues
it's seldom what you read in the evening news
sipping coffee and tea shipped all the way from China
you don't want to soil your tie

eating mouthfuls of Motherland and apple pie
you never wonder why
it's always other people's children who die!

a hand-rolled Cuban cigar

riding inside a coffin
with the door closed
sealed tight
i won't be able to see the shooting stars
out at night
rolling down my neighborhood street
for the hundred yard dash
past the neon sign where all the
checks get cashed
there's a line of dread locks
standing heel to toe
but i can't really see
so i just don't know
what's on the marquee
when all the money gets spent
on instant sex and cheaper rent
and a car when its' brakes smoke
dropping a dime until everyone is completely broke
what does it matter?
if there's no one left to flatter
well, i'm not the right driver
for when the going gets tough.
i spied an empty square
where the cops were military rough

i saw that and other hot stuff
like a swirling cloud of gas

which lingered and would not pass!
a statue of Christopher Columbus bit the dust
his head exploding in a ball of busted rust
and it bled 
dripping
slipping on the sorry ass floor
but he died hundreds of years before
behind an old ship captain's door
somewhere in the deepest south
without a parrot on his shoulder

feeling colder
but with a hand-rolled Cuban cigar in his mouth

unlit

packed by a group of men who would not quit

even when the white whistles blew

and the rising sun set in the west

i noticed their smiles and felt blessed

riding inside a coffin
with the door closed
sealed tight;
i won't be able to see the shooting stars
out at night.

down near midnight

far out on the highway
there was a red dawn
and a dark
i was speeding
inside a racing car
before shifting into park
like an adolescent
in a trance
i saw a fiery planet
at a dance
and when the music played,
voices grew loud;
lots of lonely people stood
but i only saw the crowd
and it was near closing time
when my bottle made a scene
i took another sip
and heard the audience scream
in another second
past the sun and round the moon
i tried to sing another song
but fell completely out of tune
and all those voices
in full-throated battle yell
emptied all the human shadows
from a hidden corner of my private hell:
there's an angry core,
doomsday clock ticking down near midnight;
my eyes crying tears,
blinded by the light.
there's madness on the loose,
raining above a funeral shroud,
falling hard on the land
from a passing thundercloud.
strangers with their ashen faces
pointing to the sky,
once asked to save a simple thing
now no one could reply.
far out on the highway
there was a red dawn
and a dark
i was speeding
inside a racing car
before shifting into park
like an adolescent
in a trance
i saw a fiery planet
at a dance
and when the music played,
voices grew loud
lots of lonely people stood
but i only saw the crowd.

even the buffalo cried

i don't think i've ever told you
didn't know which words should come first
it was a hot and dusty day
and i had a terrible thirst
the Band was playing in the very next room
while i was talking out the back door
but you never heard my true story
about struggling near Saigon during the Vietnam War:

and tell me, please, what it was all for.
there were fewer men then we needed
the man with a tunnel light said
when i drove thru a field of tombstones
and everyone there was perfectly dead
i couldn't hear their voices but i saw them wave
in my memory i remember each name written on every grave
and the sun was circling and even the buffalo cried
but i wanted to hold you closely by my side
i wanted to touch your hair and softly say your name
sit you on my bed and play a lover's game,
but after what i saw maybe nothing would ever be the same.
i saw American jet planes surprisingly low and fast
dropping from their bomb racks jellied gasoline which blew apart

a rice paddy village burned
little children screaming to run away while tearing at my heart
what life lessons were learned?
they could make you feel guilty or hard inside
if you stopped your fast-forward selfish stride
and the sun was circling and even the buffalo cried
but i wanted to hold you closely by my side
i wanted to touch your hair and softly say your name
sit you on my bed and play a lover's game,
but after what i saw maybe nothing would ever be the same.
i don't think i've ever told you
didn't know which words should come first
it was a hot and dusty day
and i had a terrible thirst
the Band was playing in the very next room
while i was talking out the back door
but you never heard my true story
about struggling near Saigon during the Vietnam War:

and tell me, please, what it was all for.

fragrance of a lovely bouquet

so,
it's compassion you say,

this fragrance of a lovely bouquet
and now you're walking in a strange and unbelievably overgrown jungle
in the ever-present heat of a never-ending day
and making progress
(but you're not in the news)
you're taking a sip of warm water,
paying random pieces of communal dues to the rainbow of men surrounding you 

when suddenly you're covering for a buddy when the shit hits the fan,
hearing enemy bullets whizzing by while you're risking death,
listening carefully in a brief moment of unexpected quiet
for another draw of hurried breath
and then a sharp cry nearby for "Mother!" and an anguished cry for help;
a steady stream of piss;
the nearby explosion of a grenade,
and the ground shakes with an almost certain hit but a miss
and trails of fresh blood and faces smeared with sweat and anxious determination;
a man running in the shadows with a crazed yell,
his face distorted;
the overly fertile soil exuding an unfamiliar smell,
feeling scared, but angry as hell;
more men shot!
friends and buddies fighting like mad bees inside the craziest hive,
not simply scrambling to stay alive
but for the other,
man to man and brother for brother,
willing to lay life itself on the line:
it doesn't matter if this was part of an original design!
there's no monetary reward in sight,
it's simply to be together during the night
and in the ever-present heat of a never-ending day

so,

it's compassion you say,

this fragrance of a lovely bouquet, 

when infused with amazing mindfulness,

curiosity,

and appreciation for the ongoing simple things in life:

one another

brother to brother

sister to sister:

makes no difference who you are

how lucky, how fortunate

in this brief moment

full of uncertainty,

profound,

to be found

wishing upon 

the same bright star.

no one answering the phone

but there's no one home
no one answering the phone
in the heat of the afternoon
you're waiting for an answer
but it won't be coming anytime soon
while there's a parade
a big top political charade
marching with the troops down the center of Market Street
giving off chills while holding the heat
you saw the ice cream vendor eating a Coney island hot dog
being blinded by the arrival of a poisonous fog
and you ran into a nest of barbed wire
hearing the shouted words of a famous liar
standing on the top step of his heavenly choir
a rich man with powdered orange hair
and a sinister flair
his easy boast with white toast
and jam in a jar:
you're still trying to remember who you are
but there's no one home
no one answering the phone
in the heat of the afternoon
you're waiting for an answer
but it won't be coming anytime soon
while there's a barnyard
elephant and donkey blowing hard
chasing the hired hands down the center of Market Street
giving off chills while holding the heat
you saw the ice cream vendor eating a Coney island hot dog
being blinded by the arrival of a poisonous fog
and you ran into a nest of barbed wire
hearing the shouted words of a famous liar
standing on the top step of his heavenly choir
a rich man with powdered orange hair
and a sinister flair
his easy boast with white toast
and jam in a jar:
you're still trying to remember who you are
but there's no one home
no one answering the phone.

don't be rude

hiding inside a bunker in the heat
i remembered a girl i formally wanted to meet
but she was long gone
before the Asian dawn
found me rubbing my tired eyes
and another piece of the puzzle tries
to fit:
there's never a good time to quit.
yesterday, i was a baby in the sand
with my scoop shovel and a small tin can
holding the tide at bay
listening to you say
son, come here, if it's really you,
what do you want to do?
well, castles always fall apart,
pulling strings from my heart
after the false promises and worldly schemes
i'm holding smoke and dreams
while on the professional wrestling mat
a neutral referee came and sat
but he wouldn't hold my hand over my head:
what was it i once heard said?
look up for an answer or down
so, up or down?
there's a ticket on the ground
making a buzzing sound,
but it can't be touched or buried;
don't be hassled or hurried
on your way to the pig pen
where all the big little men
wallow and snort and cavort with themselves
filling those many empty shelves
with blood and broken glass,
discarded pieces of wholesome ass:
there's enough to complete my book
but after counting everything i took,
a balance is due and my wallet lacks.
finding me requires finding my tracks:
in the tall grass where the scurrying ants find their food,
i'll share mine but please don't be rude.

lost inside a crowd

he said
said he
seeking to matter
and to be free
we are all looking for some Peace
before it all begins to cease
when the shouting grows too loud
and you're lost inside a crowd
you can't breathe and start to drown                                        
as the shields come crashing down:
there are policemen in a boat
standing tall to stay afloat
they have paddles and iron shoes
guaranteed to fit and to watch you lose
and you see it with your own eyes,
hear the children and their cries
you begin to wonder with a fresh face
but you'll need to check your natural-born race
at the door there is a lock
inside a ticking clock
telling you to walk around the block
check your pulse, check your heart
does it need an emotional restart?
you can't find your soul in the dark
but there's a flicker and a spark
don't make yourself an easy mark
there'll be no falling on your sword
for a screaming overlord
and if the goal seems much too high
reach up and simply touch the sky
while still alive but before you die
he said
said he
seeking to matter
and to be free
we are all looking for some Peace
before it all begins to cease.

Franco! Franco! Franco!

Franco!  Franco!  Franco!
we will march on Barcelona
and bomb the smaller towns.
Guernica is a target;
let the planes attack.
no painting of that place
will make a difference.
Mussolini and Hitler
will help with the killing
and the suffering
and the conquest.
Franco!  Franco!  Franco!
bravo,
and advance.
the communists
and the anarchists
are pigs.
slaughter them all.
it's for fame and glory
and Spain.
Spain and Franco!
Franco and Spain!
the bull and the matador
are both on our side.
Peasants have no rights.
crush their resistance.
crush Barcelona!
turn out the lights
and light the fires.
Franco!  Franco!  Franco!
Madrid is our power
and the power is for us
to decide.
Franco!  Franco!  Franco!

Nam, again

you never get your soul back
from head to toe
your mind gets twisted
you just don't know
the heat and death
the smell of blood
digging into shit
like rice paddy mud
night time missions
living outside
wearing camouflage
trying to hide
the enemy assault wave
fifty to one
down to a few men
manning the gun.

side streets of ruin

nighthawk down
into the side streets of ruin
flying in hot
but, baby, what ya doing?
burning glass
and mustard gas
with little orphan Annie
getting spanked on her fanny!!
she's looking around
seeing smoking cruisers settle over the unsteady ground
(with) little piggies being bossy and farmer jones
picking over the carcasses of old constitutional bones
just as the sun went black
hey, it's been a long time, Jack
since Bloody Ridge
and the Selma bridge
where Martin Luther walked with his biblical shoes
carrying the Christian bible and the Memphis blues
into the valley with traffic lights flashing red
he took a garbage man's stand
and a bullet through the head
kettle drums shook the balcony floor
where he fell
like he did at least a thousand times before
and an M1 Abrams tank
it's heavy metal tracks swiftly sank
into soft flesh leading the weird parade
down Pennsylvania Avenue
and everyone grabbed a knee
shouting "Damn it, we disagree!
We don't want your cheap charms and corruption candy!"
there once was a Camelot fairy tale,
it was published in the papers and sent by email,
and a city upon a hill:
eat all you want but you'll never get your fill;
times are uncertain
in front of the mad orange wizard's curtain
where the electric air stabs
and the greedy hand of a trillionaire relentlessly grabs,
where the black sand of a Pacific beach
radiates a lesson for all mankind
but, so far, has failed to teach.
nighthawk down
into the side streets of ruin
flying in hot
but, baby, what ya doing?
burning glass
and mustard gas
with little orphan Annie
getting spanked on her fanny!!
she's looking around
seeing smoking cruisers settle over the unsteady ground
(with) little piggies being bossy and farmer jones
picking over the carcasses of old constitutional bones
just as the sun went black
hey, it's been a long time, Jack
since Bloody Ridge
and the Selma bridge.

i've pressed my pants

when i saw you wave
you shouted out
you called me Dave
but my name is Phil
and i've had my fill
won't take no more
bullets like it's a guerrilla war
it's time to crawl off the floor
tell you what i really think
give you everything including the kitchen sink
and the frying pan and yesterday's news:
you won't have to worry about how you'll lose
you've had a chance and couldn't choose
hey, damn, standing tall
with my pants hip high
and my hair long
it's not your song
don't ask me why
i'm not your guy
my stride is firm
sure, i've got a lot to learn
but my eyes are clear
i don't fear fear
when i saw you wave
you didn't come near
and the air was still
you called me Dave
but my name is Phil
and i've had my fill
outside the store
bullets like it's a guerrilla war
it's time to crawl off the floor
tell you what i really think
give you everything including the kitchen sink
and the frying pan and yesterday's news:
you won't have to worry about how you'll lose
you've had a chance and couldn't choose
damn, there's blood in the street
where the bravest people meet:
no large popcorn with butter and salt!
no trapeze act with somersault!
no fancy party dress with rose perfume!
no time for games in romper room!
i'm taking a stand not taking a pass
like your running rats on broken glass;
i've pressed my pants with the underclass
when i saw you wave
you shouted out
you called me Dave
but my name is Phil
and i've had my fill
won't take no more
bullets like it's a guerrilla war
it's time to crawl off the floor
tell you what i really think
give you everything including the kitchen sink
and the frying pan and yesterday's news:
you won't have to worry about how you'll lose
you've had a chance and couldn't choose.

thinking in colors

you never knew who
turned out the light:
caught in a windstorm
shirt and jacket torn
cases of Pepsi and warm coke
no coins in your pocket
always flat out and busted broke
running thru the awful rain
in wide circles but speaking plain
remembering hard work for little pay
it's not what was promised but what you say
that matters
as the glass shatters
and little pieces cut you and you bleed
it's not what was promised but what you need
that matters
as the glass shatters
and stories of young men and the hanging rope
find you trying to cope
in the heat of the night
thinking in colors but always starting with white
down on your luck and out of cards
give your prospects my warmest regards
crossing into Selma for a chance to pray
it's not what was promised but what you say
that matters
as the glass shatters
and little pieces cut you and you bleed
it's not what was promised but what you need
that matters
as the glass shatters
and stories of young men and the hanging rope
find you trying to cope
in the heat of the night
thinking in colors but always starting with white
standing on a strange balcony
watching a man with a heavy knee
and he doesn't want to leave
i'm sorry but someone can't breathe
there's nothing up your sleeve
with nothing to lose and a clear eye
stand up and you will qualify
remembering hard work for little pay
it's not what was promised but what you say
that matters
as the glass shatters
and little pieces cut you and you bleed
it's not what was promised but what you need
that matters
as the glass shatters
and stories of young men and the hanging rope
find you trying to cope
in the heat of the night
thinking in colors but always starting with white.