This poem

The Wall, surprised me when I was finished with it. It actually did not take me long at all to write and it is the longest poem of mine to date. My friend Travis referred to it as a mini epic. It was written near the end of 2005 after I had moved back to Tucson form Tulsa to where I am living now at Homers. I had moved to Tulsa for 6 months to give a relationship a go. That would be William. I, like so many others, was very angry after the war started and I think this poem was about letting go of it and some other things form our historical past as well as my familial past. Yes... I was quite angry and disturbed after the war began.
I have nothing to say that hasn't been said already so I will refrain. Now here we area all these years later after bush declared it over and my sister declared "I think it had a good outcome". I'll say nothing more.
I thought to burn my car in a busy intersection. Fortunately I had no gas can and no flag to burn with it and quite frankly would not have done it anyway. LOL But I did loose my car in a storm. I was living in Cascabel where I park in an alluvial area that washes infrequently. It had flooded before in an awesome storm. Well... I sat on the knoll as another monster storm came up from the south. I stayed out till it became impossible to do so. I didn't bother with the car. Later I mentioned to a friend how I thought it odd that I didn't move the car considering I knew it would wash. She simply said that she thought that I wanted it to happen. I think that is true. Only when I was young did I fancy cars and it was in my 20s when the loathing began. For many reasons but mostly for our complete disregard for the true cost of the auto industry and oil. I really wont say more because we all know even if we deny it. Its not that I don't think we should have cars its just our lack of responsibility concerning the whole issue and the unending ignorance.

The Wall

Daud and Farrah
Faggot friends
Arabian lovers from a book I read
-Beautiful in their innocence-
Two dark skinned boys on a white imperial adventure
Now stuffed tigers watching over my wall
The wall of me.
Some of what I was.
Some of who I am.
Some of what I may
some day be.
Vincent Van Gogh
Sleeping under a harvest blue
A gentle sun.

God bless the freaks
And me
And my father
And my grandfather
-Vincent Van Me-
Sitting in a faded photo
A far far forgotten day on a beach
A moment that was never mine.
And god bless the lost nation
The murdered ones who knew the life
The harvest blue
The imperial wrath.
"Nits make lice" I once read.
Genocide.
But the spirit lives
And the earth remembers.
All things are connected
Like this my wall
All creation and my creation to me
To you
To us
To them.
One thought to another
One action to the next
Forward to the harvest bitter.

Hate to break your train
But I reveal my madness
Tread with trepidation for you'll find it's yours.

So I thought I was who I was looking at
But my eyes were shattered sad
So many pieces of light
Revealing my salvation
The light which set me free.
I hold forgiveness in my hand
And give to you an old Irish blessing
And a piece of my creation
Perfect in it's decay
And may you find beauty where you never think to look.
...and until we meet again
may god hold you in the palm of his hand.

( Oh how I love my mother so )

But not the god with a violent hand
Who plants a violent seed
Who slew the children of the earth
And those who knew the Wind.
The earth remembers
And the wind knows.

But the god of circles
Who speaks on the Wind
And sows light in dark places.

Anyway...
It's october
The bitter harvest nears.
But I resign
Refrain
Retreat.
I take the hand of my child
To a different table set for us
And my dad
And the lost nation
And the children of the earth
And those who hear the Wind.

Yes
It's october
And on the backside
A painting
The sinewy shirtless form of men working
Scraping a floor on a sultry day in 1875.
Did they comfort each other at days end?
When night fell so sweetly.
That's right
I'm a faggot too
Queer
Or just take comfort in the company of men
But I don't believe in the hateful,
Violent
Bitter harvest
Imperial god with a hand for genocide.

Resign
Refrain
Retreat.
My child brings me sweet red roses
His innocence is true love
My truest desire.
He makes me think of a man I know
What do I see when I hold his eyes?
A brother?
A lover?
My father?
Me?

Soon it will be november
With dates and engagements
Bills to pay
Things to be
Places to see.
Tacked reminders on a rich and varied
Tapestry of green.
Green threads
Imperial threads
Red threads
Blood on my hands
Blood on my face
Pink threads
To many blue threads
religious threads
Woven to tight
Binding spirit.
I cut those
Now they're just frayed ends hanging about.

Then there's William on the wall
Another piece of art
Black velvet
Purple
Porcelain.
The jack of hearts.
He gave me a christmas star
But I hate christmas
So it's a gift from a starry night
Where all my love songs sing
Where the Wind begins
Where all things are possible
Where she lives
Where my poetry begins
"Someone else's son"
From which my dog-tags dangle
And I will not refrain

Green
Vincent
W
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AB negative
Christian

Cram these between the dead dogs teeth so they'll know who to tell a lie to.
Died for freedom and justice
Honor and glory
God and country.
It's the FUCKING OIL FUCKER
It's the green god in americas pocket
It's excess and greed
Ignorance and fear
Threads in the linen
Set the table the harvest nears.
Lucifer in the sons house
Wearing a golden face
Preaching from the pulpit
To gather the blind
Those weavers of threads
Who wont hear the Wind.
Jesus has the scissors
But their hearts are full of spikes
And a bloody hammer ready
Pride a shallow mask
To hide their third world hearts.

I
Retreat
I'm smelling sweet red roses.

Its painted white
The wall.
I'm going to add some color
Circles
Squares
Some illusion
An orange and open door
My freedom bike with its
Oil-black tires
A blue yoga matt
The morning sun
Two red crates of music
But only if you hear
Like my wall
Only if you see.

Did they get your eye?
You can have mine
The dogs will still bark
The birds sing.
I will still know the pain
Sense the joy
Take comfort in days end
Touch the stars.
And I will always feel the moon.

All things are connected
And she is lonely.