The War, my drunken father (stumbling like a hunchback loosed
from his smoke darkened cathedral) slouches on.
And on the cratered coast, decayed volcanoes quake below
erasing, Oh, at least a decade.
Woven in the Persian Gulf, my feet were made of clay.
At home my mother stayed up late to watch the news,
to watch the ever scheming fates:
they come in companies of forty faces, eyes encased in
6.
7.
Las Meridanzas
Oil! Smoke! deserts full of Oil! Veins! clouds of marching Oil! Chains!
too young to see such old things, my eyes are crying out Smoke! Smoke!
thick inlaid with Oil! Smoke!
Black and boiling pillars sacred lead me shaking, like a bride, into the VA.
In my dreams all of Kuwait is still on fire, its tell-tale chest
laid on a Washington Square park bench
Where I lost my voice on cigarettes.
Six red signs
hang low in the West.
I sing a bad song on a square park bench,
where I lost my voice on cigarettes.
Our daughters drew their swords against the big machines.
A bed of clover grows where each of them was slain
I fled. I ran away. I slept out in the street.
My forehead dripping oil, while twenty empty lamps line up, half-frozen.
Out in the street, where it’s only virgins like junkies
who come to turn everything over.
If I had only known, it is only junkies and virgins who will wait so diligently.
All sleeping on the ground (Something swallowed my body up!)
It opened up its mouth (Something swallowed my body up!)
It opened up its mouth (Something swallowed my body up!)
And then without a sound (Something swallowed my body up!)
The world we know will pass away. The world will change and stay the same.
from his smoke darkened cathedral) slouches on.
And on the cratered coast, decayed volcanoes quake below
erasing, Oh, at least a decade.
Woven in the Persian Gulf, my feet were made of clay.
At home my mother stayed up late to watch the news,
to watch the ever scheming fates:
they come in companies of forty faces, eyes encased in
6.
7.
Las Meridanzas
Oil! Smoke! deserts full of Oil! Veins! clouds of marching Oil! Chains!
too young to see such old things, my eyes are crying out Smoke! Smoke!
thick inlaid with Oil! Smoke!
Black and boiling pillars sacred lead me shaking, like a bride, into the VA.
In my dreams all of Kuwait is still on fire, its tell-tale chest
laid on a Washington Square park bench
Where I lost my voice on cigarettes.
Six red signs
hang low in the West.
I sing a bad song on a square park bench,
where I lost my voice on cigarettes.
Our daughters drew their swords against the big machines.
A bed of clover grows where each of them was slain
I fled. I ran away. I slept out in the street.
My forehead dripping oil, while twenty empty lamps line up, half-frozen.
Out in the street, where it’s only virgins like junkies
who come to turn everything over.
If I had only known, it is only junkies and virgins who will wait so diligently.
All sleeping on the ground (Something swallowed my body up!)
It opened up its mouth (Something swallowed my body up!)
It opened up its mouth (Something swallowed my body up!)
And then without a sound (Something swallowed my body up!)
The world we know will pass away. The world will change and stay the same.