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.

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.

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.