ralph nader

"turned on"
apt for a punk rocker;
the guy was forty-five minutes late
so i was reading
about a punk rocker;

my mother,
gleaming,
forty years of hero worship which my dad
called a "cult of personality,"
and that sent me into echoes of
YES WE CAN

applause louder than apologies,
preceding the slow, methodic dismantling of
hope
and change
and i wondered how

my mother
was doing.

overcast, warmish and really windy had me grinning like a moron
but after torrents,
yes, torrents,
railing against the collapse of my fragile faith,
and i was thinking of how he was held up
by pillars made of credit cards and brand-new drugs,
(it was a dark and stormy night)
i said "this weather is stupid"

but then i couldn't see where i was going
(mr. obama, where are we going?)
and my umbrella
doing its best to cheer me up
flipped inside out like eight times and
i said "this umbrella is stupid"

and then i almost walked into the pond
and i started grinning like a moron.

"if you let me have my way i swear i'll tear you apart"

if i could collect all the lies you spit
like snake venom from your lips

if i could take that black hole in your throat
that makes your guilt go down so slow

if i could peel those scars from your legs
make smooth skin from the red

if i could inhale all the smoke in your mouth
when you exhale it carefully, wincingly out

then i would.

i would swallow it all down.

and then one day,
when you finally snapped,

i would give it all back

ten thirteen

all gone to my head.
images. stage lights.
this is the voice you wish you had.
take me with you,
ecstasy,
give me that tab on my tongue
i need it like i need a cancer in my lungs

gorgeous looking so
tortured up and twisted,
pretending to be cute,
but later on,
[when you're all alone again]
when you're [you'll be] naming constellations with a noose
it's only because you wanted to be missed

i almost feel sorry for what i did

the way you put your hand on my mouth,
and i'll stop struggling when you've smiled long enough,
and all those things you whisper in my ear
and all those stories you beg to hear
my dear,
it took everything i had,
but i liked it the hazier you became

sure. i'll hold you.
i'll tell you a story
and i'll tell you a promise
and i'll say "i would die too, with you"
and i would let you eat up
every empty word i said

but i had a good night.

raw and rushed.
stripped, sabled,
vicious, the victory
welling up in the depths of me

basically i'm sitting on the couch and cheering.

because revenge is a cliché
(dear hamlet, if only i could put you somewhere
that deserved your fragile, thrilling self)
but revenge + mahone will never not be awesome.

i had a bad morning.

pin me down like a butterfly.
crack open my chest.
there's a fine layer of compassion there,
thin and soft like a spiderweb;
you could yank it out easily
discard it
in the scraps by your feet;

i will not promise
that i won't fight back

to keep you from seeing past
those spiderwebs
beyond the pink and red;

hope would not sing for me
so i took it gently by the wrist
gutted it,
splattered it all over my own voice,

i sing with a hope on my voice that doesn't
feel
quite
right

but maybe to you it sounds like church bells

i am the canary
that you take into the coal mine

when i stop singing
you will drop my cage
deep underground

and run toward the light

"we prey as wolves among the sheep and slit the necks of soldiers while they sleep"

dearest son,
your mother and i
we are the ones,
the ones
who feel this love for fire,

who applaud when they run planes into towers,
god, that power,

we laughed when they shot the president
back in '63,
oswald, the mafia, and me,
and when jackie climbed over
the back of the car to grab the pieces of his brain,
god, we howled,
all that blood on her dress,
jackie darling, that's gonna leave a stain,

we vote pro-life
so that when those young girls want abortions,
they'll have to stab up their insides,
there's no more doctors, dearest daughters,
so will it be coat hangers or knives?

and we go to all those parades,
say we hate the jews and the blacks and the gays,
but really, we just like to see them all fucked over
we like to see them writhe
and all those straight christian whites
with no education
saying "thank god for damnation!"

and dearest son,
we're gonna pin it all on you,
take the blame
(it comes with the family name)
and in a decade or two
when everyone hates you
we'll be laughing at you too
because you're a decent man, dear son,
but you won't be able to take it.
no.
not those years and years and years and years
of shame.

boy with stars

sitting in the back row with
a video camera in his hand

singing out those songs with
a hope in his voice


watching the stage with
stars in his eyes


when he gets home he will watch his video
and someday he will give it to others so they can watch it
and he will give them stars
for their eyes too

young man, pick up your guitar.
we'll need your trusty chords for this war.
make sure you play those songs wherever you go.
'cause all these new bands are sleepin'
but some kids here said they wanna dance.