When the Simple Man

I just want to be a lover
to just have her
to just breathe her saccharine smirk
to know who she is

I don’t know what Tigerland is
or rather what it's for.
Why we're sent by the thousands
to tread through those jungles,
to march through the rice patties,
and shoot the yellow man.

I just want to be a butcher
to just cut meat
to love it
to know what it is

I don’t know who the gooks are
or rather why they’re mad.
Why the lieutenant says it’s alright
to kill the gook children, their gook mothers,
to let their gook blood soak my boots
and forget about them, turn them into numbers.

I just want to be a lover.
To love her,
The way momma taught me.
To love any girl.
I know what it is.

Jeffrey

I stood in line one night
Waiting for the bus home from Seattle
The northwestern rain poured on us
Her and I, Me and her

I asked her: “Whatever happened to old Jeffrey?”
She stood puzzled, transfixed in confusion
“Jeffrey’s gone. We all know where he went.”
She tilted her head and looked up at the wet sky
The raindrops fell in her eyes, mouth, and nose
She closed her eyes and sighed
I looked around and smiled
The world spun, the people spun
We were all spun, Jeffrey was spun
Spun too fast, with the needle scratching out our destinies

The bus drove up with its exhaust seeping into our lungs
The rain still poured
I paused before getting on and looked back at her
She was still looking up

Don't Get Too Attached

We throw away our coins and metals
While bills float into starving bank accounts like flower petals.
A small gain for a large amount
of money that I don’t care to count.
Fiscal claustrophobia: I get diagnosed.
I try not to get attached, but there’s nothing I miss most,
Than when the brilliant autumn leaves turn to paper.
None of the birds understand this type of nature.
And centered on the front, the honored ghosts,
whose paper hearts stop any toasts.

This metamorphosis might go on for infinity,
but what’s the price of one's dignity?

Stella

I couldn’t help but notice
The piano was missing keys
The guitar was missing strings
And the singer was missing a voice

With that hole in her head,
I looked deep into her tarred soul
She spoke to me from it
“I used to be in here, but not anymore.”

Cigarette smoke filled the room
As she lit her next one
“I died long ago, sonny boy.”
I laughed

The rest of the band
Were puppets
They didn’t move a finger
To their decrepit, mangled instruments

“Stella, the name’s Stella, kid.”
I wasn’t wondering
“Stick around, you’ll get to see more.”
I walked back home