In breaking the bone of the beak,
so to speak,
we’re changing the shape of a life
in a week.
Unwrapping the bandages,
please take a peek,
and if you don’t like what you see,
please don’t shriek.
O, the nose makes the face
by its size and its grace.
Many honkers in place
simply take too much space.
So, if chopping’s in need,
make a change with due speed.
It’s a simple excursion
to get a new version.
The state has assumed full control of my life,
despite all my better intentions.
They monitor me through computers, you see,
and other more subtle inventions.
The cable t.v. is looking at me,
it’s one of their obvious tricks.
Whatever I do they invariably see.
I feel somewhat like number six.
Technology’s praised as the future’s new wave.
I actually buy their devices.
The ultimate goal being total control
at totally outrageous prices.
She takes her picture once a week
in that old photo booth.
She once fell down outside of Sears
and chipped a baby tooth.
She buys her jeans and magazines
and cigarettes all there.
At CVS she buys a gel
to colorize her hair.
One time she stretched out
on a bench for a two-hour nap.
And she admits to shoplifting
an item from The Gap.
The courteous mallflower
spends every waking hour
avoiding time at home
inside that shopping dome.
And once school’s at an end,
she often tells her friend,
she’ll still be in the mob there,
’cause she’ll just get a job there.
Tap our phones and cramp our styles.
Lock us up without fair trials.
Check our luggage for nail files.
We will not be cowed.
Keep tabs on library books.
Categorize us by looks.
Sometimes kings can fall to rooks.
Freedom is our shroud.
Change the laws and steal the land.
We still have the upper hand.
Ninety nine united stand.
Though mountains are plowed.
We the people shall prevail.
You can’t put us all in jail.
Our life blood is not for sale.
Stuff you, mushroom cloud.
“God always comes in through the side door
if he bothers to show up at all ,”
said the tired old grey haired bartender,
one day late December, after a mild fall.
“He sits on the stool by the juke box,
as if that’s just where he belongs.
He has a few shots of tequila,
and always plays these same three songs.
It’s ‘Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow,’
and ‘Baby, The Rain Must Fall.’
And then halfway through ‘Lonely Teardrops,’
he’s usually startin’ to bawl.
he says he’s the cause of our troubles.
He can’t stop the shit goin’ down.
He sure gets to me. I turn on the t.v.,
and usually buy him a round.
And then he takes off in a hurry,
as if he’s remembered a date.
He leaves a good tip” ‘Go down with the ship,
but sail before time gets too late.’ “