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.

so who's the fool?

there was blazing prophetic fire falling from the sky
the embers burned my eye
i didn't need to ask why
the fire was falling from the sky
hot tears kept falling from my face
there was no one nearby to embrace
and when the night turned cool
without love life is cruel
so who's the fool?
look around
and tell me what you've found!
do you know more than your own name?
what the hell is this awful game?
there was blazing prophetic fire falling from the sky
the embers burned my eye
i didn't need to ask why
the fire was falling from the sky
noise kept banging in my ear;
i took a breath and watched storefronts disappear
and when the night turned cool
without love life is cruel
so who's the fool?
look around
and tell me what you've found!
do you know more than your own name?
what the hell is this awful game?
green skin, blue eye, black ball,
short gnome, abnormally tall,
female, male, long inhale, long exhale,
foul odor, sweet heart beat motor,
bearded and bald, unknown and called
cruel and just, polished and rust
reinvented and bust, fresh air and dust.
there was blazing prophetic fire falling from the sky
the embers burned my eye
i didn't need to ask why
the fire was falling from the sky
hot tears kept falling from my face
there was no one nearby to embrace
and when the night turned cool
without love life is cruel
so who's the fool?
look around
and tell me what you've found!
do you know more than your own name?
what the hell is this awful game?

breaking into nordic sweats

eating possum with my pork
sipping moonshine
calling Mary Lou mine
while slurping with a knife and fork.
i'll make my mom and dad proud
wearing riot gear in a Friday night crowd
and heavy boots polished teeth pearly white:
everything i do is right!
yelling hard threats
sipping moonshine
calling Mary Lou mine
while breaking into nordic sweats.
hanging racial memories with a double rope
my calloused hands tearing at thoughts of hope
and heavy boots polished teeth pearly white:
everything i do is right!
eating possum with my pork
sipping moonshine
calling Mary Lou mine
while slurping with a knife and fork.

violence and war!

violence and war!
i gave you everything i've inherited
and still you wanted more
like flowing champagne,
a drink you used to love,
but now it causes only pain
with corporate greed dancing
and empire lies
it's not my idea of romancing:
there's bodies on the floor
looking for truth and consequences
while there's an ambulance standing by the door;
haven't we been this way before?
dream devices
and people growing fat and happy,
unwilling to make sacrifices,
making lazy decisions down on their knees
between politics and technologies.
violence and war!
i gave you everything i've inherited
and still you wanted more
like flowing champagne,
a drink you used to love,
but now it causes only pain
with corporate greed dancing
and empire lies
it's not my idea of romancing:
there's bodies on the floor
looking for truth and consequences
while there's an ambulance standing by the door;
haven't we been this way before?

"Please, I can't breathe, officer"

gentlemen
start your engines
Barbies and Kens
guys and dolls
gangster molls
don't ask why
hang'em high
or let'em fry
forelocks
dreadlocks
late night door knocks
blonds and reds
traveling deadheads
cheese in your pocket
the orange man Davy Crockett
boycotting subways
golfing the fairways
long naps short work days
playing rough
(i'm) more than enough
small guy tough
won't take any guff
stuff
from trailer whitey,
ol' God Almighty
running down the road
loosening the load
coming to a cruising stop
hip hop
bumper crop
hey, a dirty cop
the art of the deal
underneath a boot heel
to make a score
someone's wanting more
do the time
petty crime
he's a friend of mine
but now he's dead
like i said
getting my full share
shouldn't be unfair
pristine wedding gown
goose stepping all the way down
semi-permanent frown
rising from the project
having your racist knee on my neck
and now
"Please, I can't breathe, officer"
who's next?
send a text
it won't matter to me
if i'm not free;
who's it gonna be
when all the blacks are dead?

Led Zep

blacked out cobble streets
firebirds
yardbirds
tires squealing past the ghosts
blasting the voice of Elvis
touring America 1969
singing Delta blues
with an amplified small club white tongue
full of power and passion
balls banging off the wall
hips shaking center stage
baby please don't go
how many more times
for years and years
well, well, well
an exploding train on the downtown tracks
dishing out Pepsi and lines of coke
the station house in a blaze of speed
pretending to be a monk with 40 shots of vodka
listening to a black dog bark
under the passing window
but i don't know
staying dazed and confused
and oh, yeah, on the streets of Tampa
the stadium steps in 1973 were as hard as rock.

if no one's left alive?

people are invisible
on the edge of the dragon field
where their ears grow cold;
their silent eyes grow a protective shield;
they sleep under the night stars
eating pockets of toxic air,
trying to see what needs to be seen,
but they'll only sit and stare
like friendly ghosts
looking upside down to nowhere,
missing an angel's wing,
having an imaginary argument with God,
believing in a little something or perhaps anything,
finding no reason to be mad
or catch a deeper breath;
they're lulled into complacency
with great stories of a hero's death.
closer and closer their fate
to the Bikini Atoll nuclear test,
these remaining survivors of a terrible mushroom cloud
stay silently screaming, crying out loud
as fallout ash spreads, their day becomes dark.
the common flowers lose their color,
healthy trees lose their protective bark;
many of the floating ships sink
into their burial vault
but where are those responsible
to accept the fault?
the killer of man and his mate?
no one is willing to be first in line,
others show up much too late!
what will happen to the children
as the seasonal rains fail to arrive?
who will be left to tell the story
if no one's left alive?
and while the solitary sun glows fiery red,
there's still no roaring at the sky.
words are created to comfort and reassure,
but any rescue promise is a lie!

memorizing all the tales

it was raining on the south lawn
reporters were asking questions about the dawn
a fake leader was oozing a yellow yawn
the warm wet drops fell
and his strange voice came rising from a little corner of hell
trying to speak coherent words but you couldn't tell
and the seasons changed
then it snowed
far and away down the open road
prairie grass lands had been completely mowed
so the buffalo sitting in their zoo
keep forgetting what it is they should do
finding it impossible to heed nature's call
to migrate under or over the border wall
and there's an ocean spinning around the sun
the fish are shooting each other with a gun,
are slowly walking up the beach on the run
the tide has turned:
what once was taught is now unlearned
there are hearts that have been burned:
refugee ships loaded with all manner of humanity
sail the rising seas expecting to be free
and there's you and me
memorizing all the tales of brave Ulysses.

nothing up your sleeve

3 little pigs
and a black knight
on television
where there's static from a passing car:
who do you think you are?
changing channels like used underwear
from red to blue
wondering on a fine Sunday morning
what to do
if in an emergency the glass is broken
and you're looking for another subway token
but it's not in your pants,
it might be your last chance
before the clock strikes twelve.
what to do when the game is called?
if your room is papered with cheap confetti
and your head is walled
there's nothing to see on the far side
no where to run
no where to hide
you've held out hope
wrapped in a stiff cardboard box;
the little pigs found a way
to break the locks
they're playing you for a fool
you're trying to play it cool
they're heading for the barnyard with a grin
you momentarily tie the score
but know you'll never win;
smoke is fouling the surrounding air
it's not fit to breath
there's nothing you can do to save the day
you've got nothing up your sleeve:
bread crumbs are passing around in refugee camps
while you're reading by polished Tiffany lamps
dressed in mother's perfume
eyeing the throne room
there's nothing to see on the far side
no where to run
no where to hide
you've held out hope
wrapped in a stiff cardboard box
the little pigs found a way
to break the locks
they're playing you for a fool
you're trying to play it cool
they're heading for the barnyard with a grin
you momentarily tie the score
but know you'll never win
smoke is fouling the surrounding air
it's not fit to breath
there's nothing you can do to save the day
you've got nothing up your sleeve:
bread crumbs are passing around in refugee camps
while you're reading by polished Tiffany lamps
dressed in mother's perfume
eyeing the throne room
there's nothing to see on the far side
no where to run
no where to hide.

Bucharest

Bucharest,
where i mounted a stone horse
and fell into a central fountain,
is old.
some distance away,
Bran Castle's walls
are cold to the touch:
there is blood between the cracks
and it always seems to be there.

the guy is a moron

over and over
and around and around
driving the deep state
into the underground
with fancy feathers and curly cues
looking for Elvis
and his blue suede shoes
along with an Einstein visa
because beautiful women are cute
especially the ones
playing orchestral string bass and flute
who tease their hair and pump their breasts
pout their lips
flaunt their hips and sharpen painted fingertips
for a little scratching
and uptown matching
in and out
out and in
from Fifth Avenue to Fourth
spreading legs south or north
but mostly on the runway
for the eye of a vain man
who has money for a honey
and a special lamp for his tan.
he can have a small penis
but his bank account must be immense
his privacy ensured
with a billion dollar fence!
allowances can be made
for almost anything
even if the guy is a moron
but can buy a very expensive ring.

The Lorraine Motel (Memphis, Tennessee)

i had a vision of a dirty bomb
tear my head completely apart in Vietnam.
i saw the mushroom cloud explode in ’45,
Trinity was born!  i was barely alive,
fed a steady diet of black & white
watching John Glenn take his historic sub-orbital flight
into near space on a rocket ship;
he nearly died but i didn't know it,
hiding under the classroom seats
with Peggy Sue and her forbidden treats
so near to touch but i'd have to wait.
i saw Kennedy get blown away
in his black limo on a late November day.
watched the flowers that people held
growing old until they smelled
like thousands of dead bodies in a distant Cambodian field.
i saw them & felt chilled
when Martin Luther was struck down
on a balcony near my hometown.
he was hit with a thud and bled and bled,
but it didn't matter what anyone said:
The Dream still lives, the body gone,
remembering the Selma bridge
hoping to see the promised land over heartbreak ridge.
and i heard Nixon really got pissed!
he put countless enemies on his list
& his White House was infiltrated by crooks
who to this day in countless history books
have an amazingly large asterisk by their name
believing Honor was just a fool's game;
it didn't matter that people died;
they still cocktail partied and lied and lied and lied,
believing until the end that God was on their side!
and i indeed saw their God walking across my rice paddy water
leading His sheep to another senseless slaughter
while i cleaned my gun under the afternoon sun

and waited.  

watching the birds fly

watching the birds fly over the house
there's no stopping to shit in any suburban yard
there are no earth worms on the newly repaired street
no nutritional food inside the local Arby's to eat
the children playing in the park
pretend to be zombies roaming around after dark
dads waxing fashionable cars
and moms giving blow jobs to their fancy kitchenAid sinks
visiting bowling alleys and ice skating rinks
boasting membership to perfectly manicured golf courses
hoping to hook a drive for a hole-in-one
without getting anything of significance done
singing off-key or not at all they have all they need
and it's paradise they've simply agreed
with Sunday school and a leisurely game of pool
using a cue instead of a clue
to figure out what the hell is hurting
too many false eye lashes spending frivolous hours flirting
and their teeth are razor sharp
best for biting each other in the neck
bar-be-cuing memories on the sun deck,
watching the birds fly over the house.

wasn't it Daniel Boone?

wasn't it Daniel Boone
who went jumping over the full moon
after cheating at a game of Texas Hold'em
inside the lonely Heartbreaker Saloon?
well, he didn't have time to stop and wave
before landing in a Tombstone territory grave
and there's a lesson but i'm guessing:
he didn't think he'd be caught
he didn't think he'd be sought
for holding three pair
while playing in his fancy underwear
he said it didn't seem fair
so he hightailed it out of there
he never came back inside
kept looking for a safer place to hide
kept looking for a poker-faced bride
someone who told the ultimate truth and never lied
stood thru thick and thin by his side
and then she was gone
like the next morning's dawn
holding four aces and his coon skin cap
she never wanted to sit on his cheating lap
or tailor his dusty cowboy jeans
she never liked eating cold franks and beans
and said it was all over so good bye Boone
who went jumping over the full moon
after cheating at the game of life
still looking for a woman to take as his wife:
he knew it was over but still totaled the score
should have stopped but he wanted more
and there's a lesson but I'm guessing
he didn't think he'd be caught
he didn't think he'd be sought
for holding three pair
while playing in his fancy underwear
he said it didn't seem fair
so he hightailed it out of there.
wasn't it Daniel Boone
who went jumping over the full moon
after cheating at a game of Texas Hold'em
inside the lonely Heartbreaker Saloon?

every day was wrong

he said it was in Mississippi
or deep inland Alabama
where i worked the fields every damn hot summer
all night long
every day was wrong
aching back
and no lunch to pack
no northern railroad track
but i've got me a fine plantation sack.
baby, i sang my blues away
swatting flies in the stinking mud
tired bones and worn out head
just like Mr. Bossman said
freedom was a long road from here
no heavenly angel would appear
no answered prayer
here or there
all night long
every day was wrong
aching back
and no lunch to pack
no northern railroad track
but i've got me a fine plantation sack.
he said it was in Mississippi
or deep inland Alabama
where i worked the fields every damn hot summer
all night long
every day was wrong
aching back
and no lunch to pack
no northern railroad track
but i've got me a fine plantation sack.

gliding by

she was standing next to a shopping cart
when i went gliding by
looking for her bag of orange tangerines
but i wanted to make her the apple of my eye
her peaches seemed ripe and oh so inviting:
could there be something to make the vegetables more exciting
other than a massive carrot or an anxious onion skin
lining up for the human race and determined to win
by a country mile or the slimmest hair on an unshaven chin.

when you're not near

no sense running in the rain
or dancing under the sun
there's nothing to gain
i find only isolation and pain
when you're not near
i'll look but you've gone
i'll call but you won't hear
i'll listen then shed a tear
i can't make it through the night
can't even light my fire
can't turn a wrong into a right
can't turn a blind eye into sight
i just keep hitting my head
eating cold bacon and refried beans
can't even make my own bed
or remember what it was i last said
these old memories still seem young
regardless of my tired heart
memories of songs that we've sung
hang like sweetness on the tip of my tongue
when you're not near
no sense running in the rain
or dancing under the sun
there's nothing to gain
i find only isolation and pain
when you're not near
i'll look but you've gone
i'll call but you won't hear
i'll listen then shed a tear
i can't make it through the night
can't even light my fire
can't turn a wrong into a right
can't turn a blind eye into sight
i just keep hitting my head
eating cold bacon and refried beans
can't even make my own bed
or remember what it was i last said
when you're not near.