The New Colossus

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”




“When Mexico sends its people, they’re not sending the best. They’re not sending you, they’re sending people that have lots of problems and they’re bringing those problems with us. They’re bringing drugs. They’re bring crime. They’re rapists… And some, I assume, are good people.” – Donald Trump

Call the Carpenter

Forever a Carpenter ‘neath the lowing sky,
in my mind’s eye, you can see yet not be seen;
seems it’s not yet the sleeping scene…


In search of lost time, a Black Plague carrier costs one thin dime,
but just this once, mass-murder’s not really a crime;
dark skies closing in on the devil’s clever sin,
incarcerated martyrdom, don’t play dumb with me,
hand on my heart I salute the Brute with pride;
all the pansies and chrysanthemums hide
with dinosaurs and dime-store whores,
quartz crystal candlesticks sweep slick sickly fizzlesticks;
so, please play hide-and-seek with me for all eternity,
hold me, hug me, never tell me the truth;
like sand falling from my fingers, moist-lipped kisses linger,
a symphony of sympathies full of inconsistencies;
call the Carpenter a transcendental mental case, just in case…


“No,” said Godfrey, with a keen decisiveness of tone, in contrast with his usually careless and unemphatic speech—”there’s debts we can’t pay like money debts, by paying extra for the years that have slipped by. While I’ve been putting off and putting off, the trees have been growing—it’s too late now. Marner was in the right in what he said about a man’s turning away a blessing from his door: it falls to somebody else.” – George Eliot, Silas Marner

You can’t grow roses in cement

If you’re looking for justice, just turn away,
somewhere, there must be a better game to play;
like an egg salad sandwich left outside to rot,
the have-nots languish
in a hopeless state of anguish.

Try to greet the day with smiles,
yeah, it really is a chore,
is there food to feed the children?
Not today, not no more.
enough schools to teach the children?
Not today, not no more.

The sun never seems to shine
in this lonely jail of mine,
but there’s no reason to lament,
you can’t grow roses in cement,
no, you can’t grow roses in cement…


Atticus Finch: If you just learn a single trick, Scout, you’ll get along a lot better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view… Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it. – To Kill a Mockingbird

Caligula, Driving down I-95, At midnight

Like a Mack truck doing ninety on the interstate
my blood races
I’m trapped between the moon and sun
Clever cadaver it just doesn’t matter
hopelessly longing for an eclipse
Scrinching my guitar string too tight
I know will never come
My head spinning like a flipped penny

I’m trapped between the moon and sun
hopelessly longing for an eclipse
I know will never come…


I’m trapped between the moon and sun
Like a Mack truck doing ninety on the interstate
my blood races
hopelessly longing for an eclipse
Clever cadaver it just doesn’t matter
I know will never come
My head spinning like a flipped penny

I’m trapped between the moon and sun
hopelessly longing for an eclipse
I know will never come…


“Before all there is the question as to the meaning of the dream, a question which is in itself double-sided. There is, firstly, the psychical significance of the dream, its position with regard to the psychical processes, as to a possible biological function; secondly, has the dream a meaning—can sense be made of each single dream as of other mental syntheses?” ― Sigmund Freud, The Interpretation of Dreams

Foxes have holes

Foxes have holes, and birds have their nests,
I’m pretty sure we all know the rest;
conquering hero, our very own Nero,
fire and blood all over the place.
Did she deserve it?
what do you think…
Your stink covers multiple sins,
you cheated your way to multiple wins,
millions of victims all over the place.
We all bow down
to the king on his throne,
throwing lightning bolts at his beloved.
But what about our beloved?
what do you think…
Foxes have holes, and birds have their nests,
I’m pretty sure we all know the rest…


“Fish,” he said, “I love you and respect you very much. But I will kill you dead before this day ends.” – Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

I don’t know

I don’t know
who blows the wind or spins the earth,
or tickles a baby till it makes the cutest cackling laugh;

I don’t know
who put wings on an eagle or flippers on a whale or horns on a bull or breasts on a woman;

I don’t know
who made the stars shine so amazingly in the night sky,
or who gave such wondrous gifts to artists and authors and architects and actors and Bach and Beethoven and Brahms and the Beatles and Beyoncé,
or who made the hearts of so many so conniving and callous and cold and cruel;

I don’t know
who fills the summer with salty sea-breeze air, kids splashing in the pool, young lovers in sensuous embrace,
or who fills the summer with bomb blasts, AK47s, IEDs, and the shrieks and cries of fathers or mothers who’ve just seen their daughter’s or son’s face blown into a thousand bloody bits of flesh and brain and tongue and skin and teeth and skull and eyes;

I don’t know
who wrote all the cryptic secrets in a book no one can really understand,
or who decides who should be a billionaire and who should starve in Darfur,
or who should be a Caesar and who should be gassed to death at Auschwitz;

I don’t know
if God is the Wizard of Oz fumbling around behind a big red curtain,
or Charles Manson making his Helter Skelter followers
and kill
and kill
and kill
in His Holy Name,
or the Godfather blessing those who kiss His ass and putting a bloody horse’s head next to some poor sleeping schmuck whose only sin was not showing the Big Man all due respect;

I don’t know,
I just don’t know…


“The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool..” – William Shakespeare, As You Like It

The second worst poem I ever wrote

Something strawberry in the air
innocent freckles smile
slow-motion wind in her hair
innocent as a child
like pink cotton candy
it’s stuck in my mind
the memory of
when she left me behind…


“The desire for a strong faith is not the proof of a strong faith, rather the opposite. If one has it one may permit oneself the beautiful luxury of skepticism: one is secure enough, fixed enough for it.” – Friedrich Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols