Intervention. It just can’t
compensate for your intention.
The failures great
and just too long to mention.
I hope that I have garnered
your attention. The probables
defying all retention.
The touching points define
the line’s dimension.
And fair or foul
is only a contention.
Prevention is a negative
invention. We need a
constitutional convention.
Dog men bark in afternoon breezes,
fetching papers to train masters, tails awag
for justice. The bone of existence. They run
in packs, an army of homeless carnivores
clawing evening alleys for scrap iron and wire,
building small houses of waste and wood.
They snap and chew, growling stomachs,
barking backs, teeth bared, fur matted,
sleeping on cardboard. Until morning unleashes
the muzzle and they hunt again, howling for god.
Don’t blame me for the bees’ suicide.
I don’t control the planet: I’m just on for the ride.
The melting ice up north that’s going to make the planet neat
Insures there’ll be a channel some day where there’s now a street.
[CHORUS]
Am I sitting on your flower?
Have I taken all your power?
If I come back in an hour
Will you even be around?
If I pull the big alarm
can it still undo the harm?
Will the third time be the charm
or must we move to higher ground?
Scientists predict a run of great catastrophes.
Since there’ll be no underground, we’ll have to live in trees.
Fighting crows and vultures for our food will be a pain.
Sunburned fish will float by in the wake of acid rain.
{CHORUS}
Somewhere strangers sit and cultivate an inner peace.
Fatalists are hollering, "Remember Rome and Greece."
What’s abundant got redundant, then just disappeared.
With a bang we had to face the whimper that we feared.
(CHORUS)
We used to dress in chinos,now we’re just neutrinos,
floating in the cosmic wash of space.
Where used to be the earth, there’s just a blackened dearth,
a soul-less void that used to be our place.
*END* (or sing forever…
The Frank Sinatra hologram
is just an advertising scam.
He’ll drink with you and sing a song,
but bring your credit card along.
Faux Frank does not croon on the house.
In this sham rat pack, you’re the mouse.
Bats without balls
often cling to walls.
They can hear a pitch resound.
That’s why they hang upside down.
They can sense the stitches turn
in their radar fueled nocturne.
Bats, not balls, are taking flight
in the diamond moonlit night.