American Promiscuity

American Promiscuity

Farewell America,
my land, my love
my first kiss
first sip
first hit.
my old hag, my nagging school teacher
my giddy child.
enough, Lady Liberty,
LET ME BREATHE!

Could you leave this taste in my mouth
until I land somewhere; a place where I'm left
only the right to liberate myself.
You whore yourself to the oceans,
so let me touch,
taste,
grab whatever shore I can reach.

Wait till the sweaters come out of the drawers
and rest around necks in knots;
box my ear, embrace me with your copper arms,
and by the light of your torch, rejoice
at how I've dragged my feet!

Phnom Penh from above

The rooftops of this city can be deceiving.
They turn on my imagination
and whisper disillusionment, telling me that I'm in Arabia
or Persia- with the sweeping arches the massive pillars, the sandstone and the stucco with the verandas on the third and fourth floors.
Where am I? Cambodia? Ahh, yes. the sounds of hustle, the sight of small beautiful people, and the finest tastes of fruits imaginable remind me. And the mosquitoes wanted me to make sure that I included them.

The Bearded Man

There's an old bearded man who lives in my attic.
It sounds rather silly, but really it's tragic.
See, he keeps me awake with his moving about as he creaks and he squeaks and he moans and he pouts.
He's been up in that dust 'long as I can remember
just scaring bejeebies
and shivering timbers.

Then last Tuesday eve'nin'
I could hardly believe it:
he just got plum lonely and payed me a visit.
And as weird as this sounds, I swear that it's true
the old bearded man is no stranger than you.