Stop Worrying
Major King Kong
rides on top of
the falling bomb
And everyone is laughing
as he whoops down
to the doomed city
If only nuclear weapons
could be just as gay
we'd all sleep easily
Dreaming of daisies
popping up in fields
not representing humans
With muddy water flowing
through green swamps
bubbling life for tadpoles
But what about the streets
laden with belching vehicles
and factories shipping direct
Are the cholesterolated beings
worth saving for all that labor
inside stapled cardboard boxes
Maybe this design is designed
to fail, be overtaken by breathing
trees and overgrown oceans
Where the Road Ends
A metal yellow diamond stands sentinel
Marker to conclusion of asphalt and culture
As fierce clouds shine over dark grassy hill
Walk into abundant wildness and see
Blue sky heat eat away clouds while
Purple thistle joyously overtake hillside
An oak tree cluster is familial brilliant
Green clumps welcoming sun and gravity
To almost reach slopes that roll and stretch
Unhindered by wire or building or car
Only footsteps and eyes should touch this
Grown beauty which still exists before
Civilization's beyond be again encroached
Whereout lie concrete interests of mere men
Human Minds
A world without
the bomb
Now wouldn't that
be something
Maybe then we'd
get rid of the rockets
and missiles too
But it would take
the removal of rifles
and guns
To produce
a fundamental return
Back to swords
and knives
Unless an alien came
to melt it all down
Hell, you know
we'd rise up
Stones and sticks
in our hands
Even sans trees
fists would still
over rule
Taking away bodies
would leave only
worlds behind
For the universe
to merrily drift
out of existence
In the World War III Museum
There are piles of melted steel, rubbled bricks, and scattered wood shards to walk around for hours
There are shells of ships, planes, trucks, and cars to gaze at from an uncomfortable short distance
There are shadows of humans, dogs, cats, even mice to be observed on walls and floors so close you can almost touch them
There are videos of world leaders in disagreement, of people segregated in differently named countries and neighborhoods in this bunker
Finally, there are mounds of cooked hair, scrapings of charred flesh, and chunks of fragmented bones as evidence we were all the same
Vietnam
numbers on the TV screen
wounded in the hundreds
sometimes thousand and
dead always double digit
newsman in a simple suit
with frank reynolds hair
small square picture
in the background
of green uniforms
with one hand
clutching chest blood
like ketchup in the movies
and I was young
maybe 8 or 9
when I first noticed
people holding signs at
the federal building
finally making the connection
the suited man giving the news
the soldiers dying on their backs
and me in the living room
with my parents at night
looking at magazines the fan on
shadows saying nothing
Green Bell Apples vs Dreadful Toenail Assholes
I want to write a poem about clipping one's toenails
That's my idea: to start with something dreadful
But then I think of what is even worse: assholes
And realize I need a pleasant counterbalance, like apples
A universally loved fruit, historically important, red or green
This contrasts wonderfully, causes my brain to ring like a bell
I decide I'll try to get every word to sound like a bell
For example, I dig the noise made by each clip of toenails
It's good to cut them, it's like eating something green
Which results in fine digestion, a subject considerably dreadful
To some, until you remind them that it is grown apples
Chewed and swallowed that help to unplug stopped assholes
You definitely want to keep doctors away from assholes
When they get a hold of you, you reverberate inside like a bell
Thus a diet of the good stuff is essential, like mature apples
And bananas and oatmeal and gelatin for your toenails
I hear it comes from animal fat--how nauseatingly dreadful
To contemplate--I've got to shift theme: a tree is green
That's better, our world is mostly filled with glorious green
Trees and bushes and grasses and hopefully not just assholes
That would be unpleasant, right? Another notion dreadful
Like oil slicks and car exhaust and stock traders clanging a bell
To signal the start of trading--there's a concept without visible toenails
How do we get back to nature in this concrete land of few apples
By focusing some time on what gives us a quality of living like apples
And take an afternoon off to walk in a park or wilderness that's green
A place where one can remove one's shoes, expose them toenails
Maybe even find a lonely spot to excrete onto dirt from assholes
Like design intended, remember we discovered how to cast a bell
Forge furnaces, direct sewage through corrugated pipes so dreadful
And what about us, the modernized people who've become dreadful
With our loud stereos, air conditioning, paper waste, prepackaged apples
Filling landfills and stopping up rivers--we need a real warning bell
To toll in our heads to call us to ponder again the value of green
Instead we drive and fly our cyberspaced opinions like assholes
Everybody's got a justification, but what about freeing those toenails
Yes, it's all down to toenails freedom or leather shoes dreadful
When it's the assholes that rule, we diminish the number of apples
So go for the green life and make your own cause a cleansing bell
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