POLITICAL POEMS

THE BOUNDARIES OF PATRIOTISM

If Americans could see past their fear
that the oceans will be stolen
from the national shores,
they might see the rain is equal
everywhere-- and when it is done
it goes away beyond horizons--
and we are all made of it.

A BRIEF HISTORY

An empty room did not exist.

The plain was wide and far.

Its attic was filled with stars.

The forest was full of clothes.

We had to eat and so did they.

Teeth were cruel and so were we.

We made our own teeth that tore.

Sharpened stone flew like thought.

We ate until the bone was hollow.

Then we made a flute.

We called the wind and the dead.

The dead slept curled in the wind.

And empty room did not exist.

Then we built a box.

And caught the empty wind

and sailed to all the shores.

Some were slaves, hanged or whipped.

Some wore gold and owned the world.

Now an empty room is all around.

But the dead are nowhere found.

AMERICAN LOVES

1.

Among the monastical fungi,

their skins of cool dew,

nothing is moving,

except the slow odors of decay…

2.

Inside the tin can

the rusting hours live.

I see a red blossom

leap out into the air,

instantly consume itself

in the cold bathing moonlight.

3.

America…

America!

Love is a vulture

descending upon your bones!

4.

Except they are honest

broken things are worthless.

Except they keep us clear,

tell us need, and how to listen…

5.

Something could collide,

across the night meadows,

like wind swirling up

from two desolate dreams,

two stillnesses that know

each other,

rising…

lifting…