Flat Planet

Hark the herald angels
sing the red line boldly,
this is not my story.
This is not our story.

He’ll tell you that the planet’s flat,
negligent explorer,
pockets lined with glory
trumpeting his glory,

full steam shipping down the line
toward the edge of reason,
he’s always keeping score, we
the people, brace for war,

lost for words but not conviction
when nothing left is sacred,
march right or you be wary,
things just might get scary,

so trade this fear for action,
and batten down the hatches,
lean against the oar,
let’s make love the allegory,
make love the allegory.


Broken system,
high glossed –
we let you
throw your words
like hand grenades.
I want to cover
the ears of my children.
You make it ok
for others to be bullies, too.
Obstruction of justice,
due process cock blocking,
Supreme Court circus
pummeled by playground vitriol –
what is happening?
Already enough
violence and pain,
hunger and suffering
for one thousand lifetimes.
If this were an elementary school,
the classroom psychologist
would have been called in
last semester.
Your hate,
an aberration,
a toxic symptom
of a broken world.
So we will keep on loving,
the only antivenin,
and hope that somehow
it will stop the bite
before the poison
spreads too far.


They want to close
the public airways,
silence songs of indignation,
raze the path of true expression,
only one voice
matters here.

Corporations drumming rhythm,
long now deaf from acquisition,
follow the lesson,
peddling Hollywood
and fear.

Talking heads, the camera rolls,
the bodies pile, they hide the tolls,
they shout democracy, but whisper oil,
the oppressed are crushed,
no one to hear.

From a Wall Street curb to Cairo grows,
a din that’s stronger as it goes,
cracking through the mortared blows,
steel bell of truth
rings loud and clear.

It joins the beat of history,
and beckons us to listen
to voices wrought from
sweat stained streets,
and jail cells and prisons.
From picket line
to the back of the bus,
through the dark, cold mine
they call to us.
And what they say is,
the time is now,

lay down your

Two Questions


A man
digs a vast, bottomless hole
in a land where,
since the beginning,
 the ground
shakes from time to time
 (the man knows this).
The man
stands gingerly
on the hole’s precipice.
The earth trembles
and the man disappears
into the hole.

 Whose fault is it?
The ground’s,
the hole’s,


If another man
the fall,
but decides
to dig
his own black hole anyway,
and the earth shakes,
or the pipe breaks,
or the seal leaks,
or the lock creaks,
or the bomb drops,
or the time stops,
then when can
we change