take a knee

i didn't hear what you just said
it was something about me and bed
but i'm too tired;
i haven't been hired
to mow your grass
'cause i'm running on empty
and you're all wired
i'll need to stop to fill my glass
take a drink
take another moment to really think
about what you're asking me:
should i stay or should i flee?
stand at attention or take a knee?
there was a time when i knew
i always wanted a bite of you
but my teeth are worn
and your dress is torn
we drove off the road into a muddy field
i lost control and cracked my wind shield
i saw snakes and rats,
heard barking dogs and pussycats;
saw myself as a lonely child;
heard you answer the call of the wild.
you saw party dust and colored lights,
jumping jack flash and bar room fights.
and we arrived too late
with nothing on our plate
and the crowds were gone
it was hours before dawn
i guess we had our fun
or so they say
you took a seat
but i didn't want to stay.
i didn't hear what you just said
it was something about me and bed
but i'm too tired;
i haven't been hired
to mow your grass
'cause i'm running on empty
and you're all wired
i'll need to stop to fill my glass
take a drink
take another moment to really think
about what you're asking me:
should i stay or should i flee?
stand at attention or take a knee?

now hear this and hear it now

beware of dinosaurs!
flirty party animals,
drop dead donors and night time moaners!

bright bald heads

and blues and reds

and sirens announcing
from far down the street
policemen wearing combat boots on their feet,
shooting balls of hateful heat:

big time cops walking the beat,

arresting everyone they'd meet!

lawn mowers

dads with leaf blowers

moms from the present tense

jumping the fence

teenage werewolves

totem pole fools

midnight garbage eaters

of course your parking meters

babies in soiled diapers

windshield wipers 

on the prowl

now hear this and hear it now:

they'll gladly arrest a Jersey cow

for utter exposure in the street;

it's not who you are but who you meet.

cross the line or dot the i

writing obituaries in the sky

popping pills to hide the chills.

beware of dinosaurs!

flirty party animals,

drop dead donors and night time moaners!

which way do you go

to find yourself 

in the land of innuendo?

in a cell

without a window.

Night of Broken Glass

Night of Broken Glass,
half filled with fake sympathies
and cracked nordic dreams,

led directly to
sudden clouds of poison gas
inside an oven filled with screams,
shirts and bras scattered over the concrete floor
near a locked brick warehouse door;
sweet blood in jars
and Mercedes cars
racing down the German avenues,
scattering merchants,
throwing shoes,
cracking skulls,
smashing schools,
led by a bellicose belly full of fools:
Reich killers on the loose
cooking the golden goose;
opening the curtain
for a second World War;
never satisfied with enough beer hall laughter
but always wanting more.
feeling mighty brave
digging the premature grave
of anyone writing a decent book

if they have a certain look,
or a doctor in a hospital hallway
kneeling down to pray,

especially the Jewish.

little Putin

little Putin went to bed
with a roll of fat
and a sweet blonde blow-up-doll;
he had burger crumbs on his white shorts
with a tiny wiggle worm hidden inside,
waiting for his absent bride.
in a distant room,
she wore a coat which didn't care
how her husband combed his hair
or tanned his face.
he often said
buried deep inside his head
was pure genius
for global leadership
but only fawning types
playing cheap bagpipes
believed that tune,
and she had no desire
to stroke his fire.
he loved his pressed pants too big
while his orange wig
curled past his ears,
alert for any
random cheers,
regardless from where they might arise
in the early hours before sunrise.
and when the lights turned really low,
he felt his memory grow,
the TV signal become weak,
as he dared one more foxy peek,
but his wife never appeared,
although he thought often of dating his own daughter.

so incredibly weird!

Boris sipped his brew

behind the Kremlin walls
where Boris sipped his brew
millions of ghosts sit and talk
about Putin and his crew
it's impossible to breathe, they say,
at the bottom of the Baltic sea
if no bones come alive
like a jumping circus flea!
their army of dead eyes,
with rage inside each head,
cross the Moskva River
with a loaf of hard black bread,

to piss on pant legs standing guard
in the darkness between drinks,

tossing stones at the tyranny
until the bastard sinks.

off we flew

winter
and
the snow was deep
i saw my tracks
going nowhere
they'd disappear
into thin air
with a goodbye hand
and a fading smile
i stopped to rest
for a little while
watching memories,
more falling snow
there were questions enough
but what did i know?
it seemed so cold
i saw my breath
i heard my laugh
and saw my death
a woman neared
she called my name
but if i froze
who could i blame?
she warmed my heart;
i felt my blood;
it filled my senses
like a rushing flood,
and in her eyes
i saw my fire;
we sang together
in a lover's choir,
and the sun was warm;
the sky postcard blue
we took a leap
and off we flew.

keeping time

Tucson
or thereabouts
i saw a desert rose
and heard her shouts.
my father saw her too!
he said her hair was diamond black;
her eyes were cherry blue.
she mysteriously disappeared from our view

with several members of a Dead road crew
just when we thought we knew

what everyone had to do.
so we talked as we walked
and he told me a tall tale
about when he saw her swallowed by a great white whale
and he swore it was true:
there were crazy men and three bright stars
on a strip of street filled with musical bars;
dancers playing with their rocks,
and old shepherds' with furry flocks
just like Walter Cronkite on the evening news
they acted like they had nothing to lose
so, it was impossible to choose
trying to decide which way to point my finger
and not wanting to linger,
i skipped around the hill
hoping to find another empty hole to fill:
well, there was nothing but infinity and a streetcar named desire,
one man who said he'd try to be truthful but was a complete liar;
and a game show with a presidential host
just like Clarabell clown and Casper the friendly ghost.
it was time to pack my bags,
just a couple of ordinary rags
and punch the clock;
take a stroll around the block;
watch a re-run of the Howdy Doody Show,
listening to my old man shouting "Look out below!"
i'm never going to come this way again,
counting down from a hundred to one to ten;
sipping to the bottom of my glass,
looking for a dime;
giving away all my inhibitions,
but keeping time.

and then King got shot

and then King got shot
asking for a 15 cent raise
watching the garbage fill a back alley can,
hoping to stall the ending of our days.
and the sun was hot
even though the night was near;
there were protests in the streets,
for what exactly wasn't clear.
voices rose and fell
with the ringing of the Liberty bell
in Philadelphia near the square,
raising expectations everywhere!
but it had a crack on one side
as the hammer struck a note.
King held a paper in his hand;
it was a sermon he once wrote,

that one day this nation would rise

to cast off hatred and lies,

to live out the true meaning of its creed

so men no longer need to bleed

for the color of their skin.

he had a dream from the past

that all of God's children would be free at last!

and then King got shot.