Thunder, thunder,
raining down.
The smithy’s hammer
and burning forge
shaping iron
into blades
into mail
into war.
Thunder, thunder,
raining down.
The fact’ry hammers
and fact’ry workers
shaping steel
into ships
into tanks
into war.
Thunder, thunder,
raining down.
The assembly line
and machinery
shaping plastic
into chips
into bombs
into death.
Immortality:
the desire of old men, and
the folly of youth.
Momma’s apple pie
A stern lecture from Father
Brother’s bloody nose.
The future loomed beyond the horizon
like an angry, unknown god
through whom all roads must pass.
Bars on the windows
The sign says, “Beware of dog”
The front door light’s on.
The empty chair waits,
but it does not wait alone
for hungry plates and untarnished silverware
sit by sets of thirsty glasses
at place settings who ring tables
echoing with the half-remembered laughter
of a family that gave up long ago.
I can always come –
beaten, broken, weary, damned –
and find salvation.
The pretty poison
that we swallow willingly
to forget the pain.
I will find a way
to make you pay
for what you did
to my kid –
you will rue the day.
I wish I could say
I knew something about this…
We’re…complicated.
A (wise) man of two faces 