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Poem

Now she sits down, head
hung low as my soul,
picking at the grass

Her head’s on the desk
counting out the syllables
just like me

When the moment calls
ah, what use are syllables
let’s break the cycle

Five seven five five
five seven five seven five
five seven five five

Tick tock, going round
and round and round and round and
round and round and round

As eons crawl by
the moments repeat themselves
only for those who listen

Facsimile smiles
she told me this yesterday
and I know the secret

“Cut it out guys, it’s
serious as a heart attack”
that was good timing

A hole on the knee
a hole in her jeans
a hole in my soul, oh yeah

Counting out the words
what utter futility
what else in our lives?

Eight bars of light sit
on the ceiling, letting us
see what we are doing

Impeach Bush and Cheney
afterdowningstreet.org
says the orange bracelet

until they all come home, I
will wear this yellow bracelet
to show my solidarity

Hair stands on my hand,
blown by the breeze
of the air-conditioner

A silver cross is hung
from the fire alarm
blown as well on the breeze

Under the sun, we
play out our peaceful lives
never stopping to think

Dammit, go away
sit down, because you
are the freak

“Nice guys finish last”
stop talking to my lady
well, not really my lady

This feeling,
I must deal with it
Alone

Dangerous, dangerous lady!
Don’t you know you’re heading down
the road to heartbreak?

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