Damage by night,
Construction by day.
Boom and then depression.
Glass of this, puff of e(i)ther.
Sweat, flex, towel off.
Screw this, screw that, watch the calories.
Lunch today was a fruit bar.
Worry the afternoon,
Get ready for dinner, have a cold one.
You build something up, you build a beltway.
You find your muse and then you ask her to stop singing.
How could you do that?
You get a bunch of whiskey for Christmas,
Your friend finds you a little grass.
It’s the BBC and Amy Goodman
And Tom Ashbrook “On Point” on podcast.
What can I read for information?
Democracy now, democracy now;
I need information.
I was expecting a 1% newsday and
Instead it’s 54 — at which Bhutto is dead,
Suicide bombed, shot in the head.
Let’s worry (instead) about our own democracy.
One heart, two hats
And a lot of confusion.
Anything could be my dreams.
My dreams as real as this.
The Writing of John B. Randall 