AMERICA IS THE LAND OF ...

OF FREE JAZZ AND STRIKERS
AND THE DESPERATE NEED
FOR A LIVING WAGE AND
HEALTH CARE FOR ALL

It's like free jazz. 
No more nothing. 
Down with death. 
Go cat go. 
It's a perfect nothing. 
It's nowhere. 
Everything is empty. 
America needs
a shovel to dig holes. 
America needs
a smoke. 
No one's got a match. 
Everyone's on strike. 
The wages of sin 
is death. The wages. 
The sin. 
America grab
grab a backpack. 
Walk the highway. 
Walk to where 
there is no highway.
Rain on 
the lonesome. 
Make it now. 
Make it a perfect
emptiness. 
Like Jack. 
Jack Kerouac. 
Down with death. 
It's perfect. 
Let's ride. 

A POEM for Rufo Quintavalle

Lemon, 
   penny.  
Marble, 
    ash. 

POEM

A BRIGHT AND SHINING PEOPLE

Clog dancing drunk or huffed.

Rickety children bouncing off walls.

Bite him, bite him good!

This be us as we live

the lives of Riley.

Hung from a axle tree,

hung from a bridge, hung

from the stone horse of

the village founder in

the western square.

I seen Johnny Cash out front of 
the Pit Pony Tavern.

Est. 1974.              

I tried to sell him jumper cables.

'Not worth my time, son’ 
is what Mr. Cash said.

I'd sell jumper cables to anyone back then.

So I got a tattoo that says 

‘Not worth my time’.

Life is 

theft.