dinner invitation…

there’s an extra space
at our dinner table now
so when you’re in town
senator seeking handouts
stop in parkland florida

the final etching…

each day
he entered
his studio
like
a man
pushing his way
onto
a subway car
back arched
with
determined steps
and
each day
he followed
the same routines
he arranged
papers
and
pencils
for
his
personal project
then
proceeded
to do
the commercial
etchings
that paid the bills
taking small breaks
to make
sketches
for his
real
artistic project
but
turning quickly
from
such daydreams
to
the real work at hand
by day’s end
he had erased
the sketches
never good enough
the years
soon
took their toll
on his hands
and
he retired
was
a winter’s morning
when he entered
his studio
inspired
by a night’s vision
he began to sketch
what
had escaped him
all these years
he was found
slumped over
an
unfinished drawing

cadet bone spurs’ dynasty…

an army
of
terracotta senators
and
representatives
line
the tomb
of
america’s freedom
a catacomb
hermetically sealed
from
the needs
of
the nation
and
its people
these protectors
of
just us
stand guard
over
washington’s necropolis
of
marble halls
parks
statues
and
wood panelled offices
their lacquered words
covering
red
white
and
blue
patriotic paint
can curl
in
fifteen seconds
once
exposed to
corporate donations
and
can flake off
in
just minutes
after
an election
their
covetous emperor
lies
in
his own
pit
with
a rickety
entry way door
carved
with
a crescent moon

deconstructing freedom…

the old barn’ s been
weathered
by
many a storm
quite a few
of
its boards
have been
torn away
and
tossed
by time’s wind
into the sea
others
have been pillaged
for
personal gain
sold
on the open market
at
rock bottom prices
but
stolen goods
can be
dispensed
cheaply
since
there’s
no real overhead
well
not
for
the social merchants
of
sovereignty
but
those housed
in the barn
pay
the highest price
for
the loss

state of the union…

confiding
to
aunt bea
my frustration
with
the
cartoon characterization
of
the state of the union
and
my reluctance
to
express my opinions
to
others
for fear
of
tribal retribution
she
said
i can still
recall
your
first church solo
how you
stood
as far back
as you could
from
the congregation
embedding yourself
behind
the robes
of
your
much taller cousins
serving
to conceal
the source
of that deep voice
and
tho
you were hesitant
to
sing alone
you soon found
that
others
would join in
with
your hymn
of
praise
i would think
that
any song
of
truth
will be joined
by
others
we must
just
let
our voices
be
heard

star chart…

aunt bea
said
i have
a small jar
of
gold stars
on
my office shelf
each
one
represents
someone
i’ve loved
or
grew up with
when
a friend
passes on
i
place their star
on
a picture
of
the night sky
in
my bedroom
and
though
the jar
grows
empty
and
my loneliness
grows
i see
the heavens
full
of stars
when
i rest my head
at night
and
that
gives
me
hope