Saturday, May 22, 2010


Looking for poetic feet in electric lit darkness and noisy silence
You hear one thousand cacaphonic sounds in rattling rooms
And you announce, “This is treasure!”

Holding your plunder aloft and shouting of its value
“This is gold!” and childlike your cupped hands
Loose the dust within to float onto the breeze

What answer shall I give? To you the wind is ink
And desert sand a place to write your history
The sea an endless fountain of wine

Monday, May 10, 2010

How Many Did You Say?

How many did you say?
There are the hundreds in Grand Central Station’s living room
And thousands more like rugs in store front doorways

Unwelcome welcome mats. San Diego treats them as rubbish
To be carted away out of sight out of mind and, always walking,
They look so out of place in LA.

How many did you say?
DC has them and they must be Detroit’s largest natural resource
If only Motor City could learn how to use them.

They’ve been seen in Minneapolis in the dead of winter
And Phoenix at high noon in midsummer’s heat
They seem to thrive anywhere.

How many did you say?
In Des Moines and Sacramento the bourgeois walk by
Comforting themselves with platitudes

Like “There but for the grace of God” and telling each other
In restrained voices how badly “those poor things smell.” Then
Laughs when bourgeois ears hear them ask for money.

How many did you say?
Tiny Hangtown has dozens hidden among the trees and along
It’s polluted creek they stride one way then another.

Travel Google Earth and see them laying quietly in Kansas City
Or Wells, Nevada or wandering the highways of the southwest
Talking to themselves and gesturing at the sky.

Bureaus full of Census is trying to count them.
Will they herd them through counting gates livestock like?
How many will you find Mr. Republicrat?

How many did you say?
How many did you estimate?
How many will you forget after counting?