Thirteen Ways of Looking at Our Problem (After Wallace Stevens)

I
After one hundred twenty-two dead schoolchildren,
The only changing thing
Is that no things have changed.

II
They are of one mind,
Like a target
In which there is one silhouette.

III
Our bullets whistle in the winter winds.
What small shells do they leave behind.

IV
A man and his God
Are one.
A man and and his God and his gun
Are one.

V
We do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of tension
Or the beauty of release,
The hands before pleading
Or just after.

VI
Caskets line the green lawn
While we defend barbarism.
The shadow of the law
Wavers to and fro.
The intent
Of the shadow
Is our infinite cause.

VII
O thin leaders of mortal men,
Why do you believe in possibility?
Do you not see how the base
Are swayed by the whims
Of the stories that surround them?

VIII
They speak the savior’s tongue
In unstoppable, rapid-fire rhythms;
But we see, now,
That the devil is involved
In everything they do.

IX
We bury the bodies out of sight.
We mark their memories
With one of many grey stones.

X
In the face of reason
Like a banshee’s scream,
The green bonds of fraternity
Keep us all muffled, weeping.

XI
We ride across America
In a silent ambulance.
Once, a fear shook us,
In that we took
The shadow of the law
As immutable.

XII
The tide is rising.
The dead are rising.

XIII
It was all over the evening news.
We were dying
And we were going to die.
Another active shooter leaves
His mother’s loving arms.

Thirteen Ways of Looking at Our Problem (After Wallace Stevens)

Are You There God? It’s Me, Volume, Reverb, & Resonance

Sometimes,
in the shower,
I sing as though I’m
Peter Garrett from
Midnight Oil.

Often,
I sing pop rap songs
in Peter’s voice.

Try this:
First, sing “Beds
Are Burning” to
remind yourself
of Peter’s delivery.

Then, sing “Baby
Got Back.” Now,
don’t you feel good?

Today,
I sang “Don’t You
Forget About Me.”
It sounded awesome.

But, I was in the shower,
where acoustics
are much more friendly
and everybody
screams your name.

Are You There God? It’s Me, Volume, Reverb, & Resonance

Some People Cannot Pronounce the “L” In Railroad

And some people cannot admit they’re wrong
And some people cannot ask for help
And some people never had a favorite song

Some people cannot say “I love you”
And some people cannot get to sleep
And some people know the way to get through
Is to avoid digging down too deep

Some people cannot whisper softly
And some people cannot understand
And some people cannot forget what happened
And some people need a detailed plan

Some people wonder out loud
And some people dream until noon
And some people look in the mirror
And think that it’s happened too soon

Some People Cannot Pronounce the “L” In Railroad

This Sunday in Kansas City, Come Get Your Sweetheart a Custom Love Poem

I’ll be at the Made Market, composing one-of-a-kind love poems at your request.

In other news, I took a longer-than-typical winter break from Devious Bloggery. Mostly because last year’s Waterwood project wore me out but also because sometimes you just need to take a longer-than-typical break.

I want to remind any of you that haven’t yet to sign up for my monthly newsletter at https://tinyletter.com/ballsauce. If you enjoy this blog, you’ll enjoy the newsletter, too.

How are you? How’s your family? Are you staying strong in spite of the true retardation of American government? Are you watching your breath? Are you watching your neighbor’s breath? Has your neighbor stopped breathing? Shouldn’t you do something? Call someone? Put some clothes on first. You’ll likely be questioned.

This Sunday in Kansas City, Come Get Your Sweetheart a Custom Love Poem