This is one of the few political poems I've written.

Capitalists and Carcinomas

'Grow, grow, grow your profits', 'maximize', and 'super-size',
capitalists talking business together, like cancer cells, conspire
to propagate a greedy creed: Multiply, proliferate, metastasize.

Capitalists and carcinomas alike on the one-track, half-witted drive
to increase productivity; expand market share; merge, and acquire;
to grow, grow, grow your profits, maximize, and super-size,
.

Capitalists and carcinomas strive for the same goal—the whole pie,
though their victories will be the death of them, they continue to aspire
to propagate a greedy creed: Multiply, proliferate, metastasize.

Cheering as stock market indices soar into the bluest of blue skies,
ignoring the harm inflicted world-wide by their consuming desire
to grow, grow, grow your profits, maximize, and super-size,


Capitalists, and carcinomas both, conquer without compromise;
taking over everything in reach, swallowing smaller entities entire;
to propagate a greedy creed: Multiply, proliferate, metastasize.

As the belly of the beast bloats, as the vampire markets suck us dry,
our skeletons re-organize around what’s left, no longer required
to propagate a greedy creed: Multiply, proliferate, metastasize;
to grow, grow, grow your profits, maximize, and super-size,

Excerpt from "A Recycling Life"

Here is an excerpt from a long poem "A Recycling Life" which will be published in Descant, in the Summer, 2008 issue.

He loved water, and he loved to swim
in icy streams, while she strode along
the bank beside him, shivering, terrified
of what she might have to do if he died;
gulping
cups of hot chocolate laced with brandy,
sucking in
tobacco smoke spiked with cocaine,
her brain cells glittering;
white-hot thoughts, like killer bees
buzzing in her ears, all her little fears for herself
stinging the inside of her skull, swelling
indecision as she paced, waiting
for him to finally clamber up the bank into
the warm embrace of the towel she held for him,
enclosing his thin icicle limbs and frosty testicles,
squeezing him until he gasped, and escaped,
laughing (a little too late), his brittle breath
fogging the cold brutal clarity
of the morning light.