The early peoples faced Life --
today, we face away.
Seeking ways to clean it --
make it sterile --
and nice.
In the end, though,
the results of all our efforts
serve only to demean life,
distract us,
and abstract us --
from life,
leaving us with only its after-image,
weakened by degrees --
and disinfectants!
Sterile.
ashes
The air is filled with ashes --
Too many friends
have burned.
Burn Victims --
Society's Ill --
A great unloved Battalion,
hoping to be free from anger --
prejudice --
and fever.
Fatalities of Beauty,
of kissing once too often, maybe.
This is Death, you know--
wrapped in the name of Husband!
A couple more…
With all our Legends gone
and all our Divas dead,
We contemplate destruction
but cling to life instead.
Small wonder we berate ourselves;
abbreviate our passion.
When friends decline and fade away
in melancholy fashion.
Can't fight a tide so overblown --
nor turn away its wave.
Can't comfort souls who grieve and moan
nor resurrect the grave.
Can't ask a heart to bear too much
before the beat gives way.
Can't take away the loving touch
and ask the heart to stay.
Meat.
Carnivores --
seeking vainly to break old habits,
habits learned --
Ingrained behavior . . .
acquired in the last millenia --
when pack loyalty ruled . . .
and pack behavior.
Heightened senses mattered then --
heightened senses and aggression.
To be fit for life,
meant taking life --
an attitude now found to be disgusting --
embarassing --
and backward.
In truth, they are --
Instinctive --
Instructive,
and routine.
We can learn a lot from Hunters,
from Farmers,
Butchers . . .
A lot about who we are,
what we are,
and why we can't escape.
Carnivores --
contained,
trained,
to be polite . . .
and civilized.
Neutered lions --
remnants of Adam!
Street People.
Street people never start out that way --
their look must be acquired . . .
through practice -- and abuse.
Their unappealing habits . . .
begin as the result
of hardships --
and neglect.
Then continue --
out of indigence . . .
and indifference.
Ragged clothes,
and ratty hair --
Proclaim the triumph . . .
of apathy,
and lethargy.
Self-respect --
that most basic of human emotions . . .
is noteworthy in its absence.
More so because it offends our sensibilities --
rending our hearts,
and forcing our hands!
We see all too clearly,
how close we are to them.
So easy to become --
Throw-away people . . .
People whose existence mirrors society,
or more likely society's preference . . .
for selfishness,
and self-absorption.
They are fearsome in their pain,
freed of our most basic needs,
and free of understanding.
They move --
through the paralysis of civilized man --
Neanderthals,
Beasts perhaps,
less human than preferred.
And yet more real in their urban plight,
of plastic bags,
and grocery carts --
than the busy executives who snub them.
Preferring company lunches,
over last night's garbage . . .
or last night's doggie bags.
Where now is truth?
Justice from the God?
For certain it has left these freaks of nature --
Unbalanced --
and ignorant.
Innocent in their insanity . . .
and selfish, too --
like all the rest of us!
Hog Killing Time.
Hog-killing time --
time to hide . . .
to cry.
Time to walk away from feelings,
Grow Up!
. . . and face the world.
Hog-killing time --
time to get the Gun.
Boil the water,
set the wench.
Sharpen knives --
and kill the Bitch!
Jehovah’s Witness.
Jehovah's witness has a home
amidst the heavenly layers,
Reviving Saints from parts unknown
with a hundred thousand prayers!
Jehovah has a Golden Rule
and lots of laws to break.
His followers return to school,
Seek out new rules to make!
In droves the Witnesses go out
to share Jehovah's dream.
They walk, and talk, and cast about
more deadly than they seem.
With hearts aflame they preach and pray --
Invoke Jehovah's power.
They walk the neighborhoods by day,
grow bolder with each new hour!
Step on up to Heaven…
Step on up to Heaven (with me) --
See,
There's a path right over here . . .
next to Jesus.
You can even lean on Him --
if you get tired along the way.
He's a good Man --
Son of God, in fact!
Always there to lend a hand . . .
when Heaven's on your mind.
But, hang on --
wait just a minute here . . .
Is that a sin I see?
Are you trying to bring some sins along --
To Heaven?
See we don't do sins --
here --
in Heaven!
Don't let `em near this place!
You could almost say we're allergic to sins here in Heaven,
Allergic to sins --
and sinful people.
We've got rules you see.
Did I forget to mention that?
We've got rules here in Heaven --
rules that gotta be obeyed!
And when you don't --
obey the rules, that is . . .
Well,
let's just say you could slip . . .
Lose your way --
-- Miss a step,
and Fall.
Security is steep, you see . . .
Can't let Sins pass,
or Sinners --
Not on the way to Heaven.
We train `em hard --
our security.
We train `em hard . . .
To spot Sin --
and Sinners --
here on the road to Heaven.
Funny, though --
`cause Jesus won't join in --
Do you think security's too good . . .
for the Son of God?
Is He too High to notice Sinners?
Sinners that need to be brought down --
however we can . . .
whenever we can.
That Jesus, He won't join us --
Some Son of God We got!
He keeps talking,
about Sinners -- and sinfulness.
Seems He thinks they're worthy --
of time,
and trouble . . .
Now, you might say,
how can WE know better?
and yet we KNOW we do!
That’s why we’re not so high on Jesus.
After all - how can we keep security --
on track, on target, and on time?
When Jesus!
He's Forgiving!
Understanding! Even Caring!
Willing to fill Heaven --
with Sin!
Push Him off!
Get Him off this Road!
Son of God, my ass!
He's a Fool!
Pretender to the Throne!
the city…
Dear friend, I know the city,
though it's not my natural home.
I've seen it take the best of us
and let them die alone.
The country boys adore it,
for its freedom and its vice.
Its lights are bitter jewels
anxious to entice.
The streets are filled with wonder,
old traffic and new trade.
And there somehow more gentle souls
try not to be afraid.
They leave behind their fantasies,
as starlight leaves their eyes.
And gain the new expression
of garbage-eating flies.
up the stream.…
I'm too near the ocean
to finish up a stream.
Standing on this precipice
I dream a sailor's dream.
Thoughts of river sources,
seem too far away.
I cannot see beginnings
oozing out of clay.
Waterfalls are hard to climb,
harder near the top.
Fighting current's not my style,
easier to drop.
Waves sometimes turn tidal, though,
storms breed hurricanes.
Perhaps if I assault the land,
She'll have to learn my name.