dust storm

a tumbleweed bounces once
leaps
explodes against my hood
dry sharp crackle snap of twig & thorn
the dead are dust
the dead are ashes
the dead dance wild
extended
above stadium lighting
among orange glow
mercury vapor arc lamps
a quarter moon has lost it's place
freeway tattered cars skid through scattered trash
Coltrane on the radio
honking like a mad goose
a freight punches through the murk
moaning
container cars Hanjin
row after row of blue corregated boxes
the dead
faces like oily smoke
smear against my windsheild
pluck weakly at my bare arm
trying to gain purchase
crying
WHERE AM I?
WHAT HAS HAPPENED?
thin rasp lost in wind rush
sand strips paint
night deepens

in the back seat
a monster bound
wrapped in wire
eyes & teeth glitter
blood on it's chin
murder in it's dark heart


Amerika awakens to History

nap time is over
no more long vacations
no more quiet idles at the ranch

history calls

so unreal like a made-for-TV movie
toy plane
cg fireball
slow tower collapse
paper everywhere
streets covered w/women's high heel shoes
the unimaginable dead
cop riding the wave down 86 stories to live
swarthy A-Rabs torturing flight attendants w/razors
suicide pilots trained in Florida
brave passengers stopping one plane
cell phones, cell phones
& the title?
"Attack on America!"
I like the alliteration

history hasn't ended
I feel like when Kennedy was shot
a vast change before us

sea change

squawking heads on TV
some guy seems to be having a Vietnam flashback
Pat Robertson & Jerry Falwell
preaching their smarmy brand
of hate
then Ollie North
Hey, ask him about bin Laden
how he used to sell him guns

history
the analysis deepens

bin Laden once bought planes here in Tucson
back when he was a "freedom fighter"
murdered a moderate Moslem educator
our enemy the spoiled sons of the Saudi rich
the Saudi who first poisoned Islam w/anti-Jewish tracts
"Protocols of the Elders of Zion"
King Farouk got these
from his 'ol buddy Himmler
spoiled sons, what a few million can't buy
while our own spoiled son
our Little King
his crown some three sizes too big
so disengaged
I expect him to start sucking his thumb
hide in a closet

wake up
lash out
trade freedom for "security"
our civilization so fragile
toss a few missiles
snarl
chew off
our own leg

 


click for larger view

Guardian at the Gate
guardian

Vacancy
vacancy
Trash Trailer
trailer
Rendering Plant
render


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Bill Beaver
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Bill Beaver lives in Tucson, AZ w/two dogs amid the ruins of a 100 year-old house. His biggest ambition in life is NOT to become a bag lady.


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