CliffSongs

  The Unmaker   It had come from the Outside. Created from the never-dead hate That gnaws on itself.   Life and Light were the enemy, They were the everything it could never achieve, A Thing of failure and the absence of promise, A rage that had no focus, But only was. It would deny itself if it could.   The blue jewel beaconed, Fired with spirits of hope and help, Life was there. It ravened at the thought. It lusted for destruction, death, depression, doubt. It hurried.   At first it assaulted with fires and calamities, Earthquakes that changed continents, Diseases carried by the smallest among them. Still, they rebounded, Rebuilt, Resumed.   They drove it back knowing it not, A confidence in their own aggression. And therein lay the key…   Weapons it gave them, Knowledge of their construction, Faulted understanding of their world, Of the physical place they inhabited, Toys for dangerous children.   Then it gave

  Ownership   Today I owned a lib. Maybe he was a antifa. They never tell you when they are. I said TRUMP 2024! I felt some swelling in my pants. But that’s what happens When you eat too many tacos.   Today I owned a pedo. Maybe he was a fascist. He did not have a MAGA hat. He was reading to a child. I said GROOMER! The child called him “Dad.” Whatever that means.   Today I owned a commie. Maybe he was a BLM. Maybe he was a mail-in ballot. I said WOKETARD! Then he put his sticker on. It said, “I voted.”   Today I owned the Democraps. Maybe they were a science. They asked me to produce documentation. I said FAKE NEWS! Then they showed me video. I had to turn it off before I learned something.   Today I owned the left. That’s what I keep telling myself. That’s what I have to keep telling myself.   Cliff Lake 10/29/2022 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2022

  Fall Ye, Fall Ye   This is the story of the mighty Kanye, Who tried to promote him exactly the wrong way. He jumped on a stage where he acted all miffed, Dude, at that awards show, you just weren’t too swift.   This is the story of the proclaimed Yeezy, Your divorce battles left too many queasy. Now E! and People might be up for the drama, But you coulda done better by your baby’s mama.   This is the tale of the embattled Ye, Who struggled to keep lit up on marquee. He tried to appear as an artiste heretic, But really man, you’re just Anti-Semitic.   This is the story of nutso Kanye West, Whom now so many attempt to divest. He claims that his mental state is a real hassle, That’s not it, Kanye, you’re just a real asshole.   Cliff Lake 10/27/2022 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2022    

  Interata   How do you see yourself? Through spectacles reddened by chance, By tint? By temper? By tears?   How do you see yourself? Through age-spotted mirror: Reflection of mistakes made, Mistakes held, Mistakes forgotten?   How do you see yourself? Through the tales of others, Praises taken, Scoldings accepted, Remarks overheard?   How do you see yourself? By numbers accented with dollar signs, By the accumulation of acquaintance? Of children, Of lonely sigh spoken to the night?   How do you see yourself? Do you look from without? Do you look from within? Do you make compare to that which you aspire to? How do you see yourself?   Would you have us see you as you do?   How do you see yourself?   Cliff Lake 10/25/2022 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2022

  Our Day   A fading chance, their failing dance, Ritual held over from imperfect past. Sword held high, blinding clouded eye, Opposing a future arrived at last.   Ragged remnants of imagined glory unlived, Marching in lockstep to defeat the specter, Of notionate monstrous elector, Of dying philosophy, they the protector.   Ear deafened by politician and priest, Constantly informing whom to like least. Enemy constructed of wind and mirror on the increase, Succumbed they are to spoken disease.   Armed and arming: oligarchy’s lance, A rabbled army for high finance, Willing to fight with ne’er the chance, To see their own ethereal fortune advance.   Blinded they are by the fogs and mist Of remote rulers making unfaithful tryst Wielded as a blinded, blunt, and bloodied fist, To pound down those that would resist.   Prided now they are of disinformation, Argument unreasoned in negation, They have purchased deluded salvation, Paid f

  No Loss?   Dusting off old lies, They scream of contrived assault. An unseen enemy made real by utterance, No need for substantiation, Volume solidifies. A trick writ for the unworthy, With unstung hand, And unbent back, Unskilled in anything save usury. Lessons from the past go unsung, Ignorance is more useful, Exploration is made strange, A new catechism learned by rote and repeat. Sour blood untasted, Flowing only in unreal cinema, Histories told in plastic, Or lowly electron, Easily ignored. A new Holy War is risen, The enemy clear, The outsider is not with us, And must be overcome. They march in ragged formation, Raging over imagined threats undefined, Except by otherness. They practice their clumsy thrust, The unskilled battery, Dreaming of the day their violence reaps gore. They believe they long to wade through bodies strewn, Horror long past their understanding. They are informed of an enemy, Be he friend or n

  Dehumanation   Raging against inevitabilities they can barely pronounce, They seek to make proof through violence, Doling unearned vengeances, Against those they already oppress.   Pronouncing inequities, They make attempt to elevate themselves, While wallowing in filthy degradation: Sins they will not allow others.   Dangerous toys they acquire, Undertaking betterment by way of suppression, Enmity is their religion, Greed their deity.   Unnerved they are by intellect, Ashamed that they are so easily seen, Naked to innocent eye, Exposed by accuracy and reality.   Untruths are spun into myths, Myths are woven into dogma, Dogma is accepted as canon, And dogma informs indoctrination.   Lost now in emotion-fired doctrine, They march against all those undoctrined, Enemies found anywhere outside their creed, Worthy only of elimination.   Destruction is their last hold, Persuasion long beyond them, Brains boiled in lies and

  Democracy - 10/13/2022   Today we watched democracy when it works. Today we took another step towards reaffirming our laws. Today we held the accountable, accountable. Today we saw the criminals exposed. Today we saw the lawless called out. Today we saw the lies ripped apart. Today we saw the weak diminished. Today we saw cowards revealed. Today we saw truth walk in. Today we saw justice is not blind for long. Today we saw patriotism. Today we begin to rebuild the Republic. Today was a good day. As ugly as the truths are – Today was a good day.   Cliff Lake 10/13/2022 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2022

  Desperata   You ask why they follow him. You ask what the attraction can be. Because he's crass, And heartless, And greedy, And thoughtless and immoral, And stupid, and cowardly, And he's just like them. The world is slowly growing up and they will be left behind, And they know it. They fear it and hate it. There's no room on the planet for the bullying kind anymore. There’s no room on our earth for the users and the abusers. They tear into her as they tear into the population: Their malice is directed at everything and everyone that cannot get out of the way. But some things are bigger than them. Mother Earth is beginning to fight back, and they will neither acknowledge that nor listen to her. They have no place on this earth, And deep down, They know that too. So, they ignore the warnings and glory in their ability to chew faster, To bite deeper. To gnaw more completely. They make their cruel jokes and laugh wildly, An

  The Billionaire Hustle   Got another email from the chump, Lots of scary words, the usual hump. Back into spam I got to dump, I don’t need a grift from an orange lump.   Why I gotta pay to clean up his mess? No matter how he claims that he’s oppressed. I got my own bills to address, Is he a billionaire or is he less?   He’s your billionaire asking for money, Your billionaire begging, Isn’t that funny? He’s in your pocket, folks, And I’m laughing until I choke. Give him your last dime – ‘Cause it’s almost commissary time…   Of course, he’s gonna have a lot of lawyer fees, He’s never gonna pay them, I mean PLEASE. A billionaire like him, it should be a breeze, It’s not my bank account he should squeeze…   He’s your billionaire asking for money, Your billionaire begging, Isn’t that funny? He’s in your pocket, folks, And I’m laughing until I choke. Give him your last dime – ‘Cause it’s almost commissary time… I’m sure he’ll

  October: A When   Shadows waver in the thin light. Pale and lifeless under a sky strewn with torn clouds overlapped, And swiftly moving. There is no warmth in this morning sun, A lingering frost attests to its defeat. The low steady breeze saps heat beneath layered clothing, Dry and steeled, it seeks exposed flesh, gnawing. A look westward yields only a gathered indistinct gray, The flat cover of clouds without enough moisture, If it would only rain, then it would finally clear, But today is given over to shroud, And the whisper of winter not yet arrived. The ache begins now, Perhaps ankle or knee, a wrist, an elbow, Or low in the back, the old injury. We all have one. A cold low murmur telling tales of incautiousness and accident, Unmeant and unwanted, collected from life. This is a bell that will ring all day. Only minutes under sky have stolen what heat you thought to hoard, One human’s effort pitted against inexorable nature. Only tim

  Once and Never   I really wasn’t ready For the time that you weren’t there. I didn’t and you hadn’t, And no one seemed to care. They lined up oh so closely, We didn’t have a chance, They stared at us morosely, And slowly began the dance.   I stood off to the sidelines I knew it would begin. Watching the surly bride’s hinds, They came up to my chin. There was much I could have done then, But fate will have its way, I meandered into the den, To watch the children bray.   They were loud and so offensive, I enjoyed it while I could. They were really reprehensive, And surely up to no good. The made a fancy tier cake Out of shoes and Elmer’s Glue I reprimanded them for their peers sake, And shoved them up the flue.   I was forced back to the party By the butler stern and tall. Who rescued the sooty children, And rolled them in a ball. He rolled them down the hallway, Into a garden near. And planted them head downwards,

  October: The Where   Dusk. The in-between time. Mists hide in the tree line, Insubstantial and too real, Making the minutes elastic. What calls to you now from the roughly familiar? What comes near? Disquieted steps taken, Into the familiar unknown. The paths you know lead to places they have never gone before - Too near to the damp places that do not dry. A déjà vu here. A memory cobwebbed. Misted and near only now. And only then. A dream forgotten and lived once, But vaguely, Vaguely. Then. You almost didn't get back. Then. The thought of it smells like yesterday’s campfire: Acrid and wet. Only then. You almost didn’t get back, did you?   Did you?   Boulders you knew now squat unfamiliar, Shrubs raking with barbed tendril, Blood not offered in twilight, And taken anyway. Fallen branches squirm in the half-light, Are they moved by the mist? Do they reach unknowing? Does the haze return their sentience, A

  Inconnu   He slips past you seen, Unrecognized as friend or enemy, He is a moment un-momentous. A breath perhaps, undrawn, Maybe he was here, Maybe he mattered, Maybe it doesn’t matter if he did once. Did he stand next to you at the deli, unnumbered? Was his money given to the great machine That grinds away behind our every action Ravenous as death, And just as insatiable? Did he fall in? The noise of it almost imperceptible? The John Doe given his two lines in the local paper, His eternity ending there. What memory could that evoke? Or does he yet live, As gray and formless to everyone As these words now make him? Why can’t you remember? Why aren’t you trying?     Cliff Lake 9/30/2022 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2022

  Uncolored Eyes   Do you avoid asking the questions, Of those things whose answers you do not wish to know? Have truths slipped past seen and unrecognized? Have they been recognized and allowed past? How would you know? If you could ask one thing, Would you dare an absolute truth? Can a truth cause lasting harm, Or, Would a lie be the more damaging over time? Which will you risk? Whom do you fear more, A stranger with a gun, Or a friend with a knife? Would you ask me questions you won’t ask yourself? Would you hear the answers? Would you leave them unasked? Do you truly want to hear what you wish to be told, Whether it bears any truth, Whether it leaves you unlearned? Would you know the difference? Do you want to know the difference? Do you see with uncolored eyes? How could you know? Do you want to know?   Cliff Lake 9/29/2022 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2022

  The Degraders   The spite that binds, The malice in loss, Cruelly retaliating injury not yet earned, Now more certain through barbarous act. Maliciously unkind to people unknown, They warm themselves with shallow affronts, Hollow congratulations of inconsequent malfeasance. Detaching themselves from compassion they outrage, Effecting little more than insult and indignity. Pettiness is their brand. Outrageous in their racket, They rage that they are forgotten before they have begun, Prescient of the inevitable. Noxious opinions farted from the studiously uninformed, The willfully imperceptive, the emphatically unread, Braying into a cacophony they cannot overcome, They needle those that cannot avoid the prick, Rendered impaired by hurts they could not deflect, Because life is cruel to the innocent and the guilty without bother. Such niggling actors, They portray themselves as guardians of truths concealed, They are the bullies the rest of

  Q’ing Up   They seek to be made holy through the denigration of others, Baptized in the sins of the worst among them. Consigning themselves to overweening, overarching avarice, Stumbling towards the nearest justification they can find. Lost in the frozen confusion of their unrealized ambitions, Their anger fueled by the willingness to be lied to. Searching for clues in bubble gum wrappers, Satisfied only by the increasingly outlandish. Constructing frail formula from the ragged ends of mistaken follies, They imagine new truths discarded tomorrow. Fueling an anger shared through an imbalanced conduit, Drinking the bitter dregs they wallow in freely. Coherence anathema to forgone conclusions, Rationale a poison to deductions premade. Conclusions to be enforced through sacred bloodletting, God granting them sufferance to persuade in pain. A mob formed from the self-indulgent, To prop up the monster that they strive to be. No turning back now from

  Do Not Speak to Me of Christ   Do not speak to me of Christ if you will not feed a stranger. Do not speak to me of Christ while watching others drown in debt.   Do not speak to me of Christ as children lie bleeding and politicians profit. Do not speak to me of Christ as you jack another round into the chamber.   Do not speak to me of Christ as you claim control of another’s decisions. Do not speak to me of Christ if you can claim rape is the will of God.   Do not speak to me of Christ if violent repression of anyone is your path. Do not speak to me of Christ if hate is always your first thought.   Do not speak to me of Christ while you practice intolerance. Do not speak to me of Christ as you spurn those that are other.   Do not speak to me of Christ while you glorify those unholy. Do not speak to me of Christ as you idolize the unjust.   Do not speak to me of Christ if you are plotting vengeance. Do not speak to me of Christ if you think spi

  A Song for the Damned   Where are you keeping your special knowledge,   Where is it hidden from those that don’t know? Where did you get answers to unsolved enigmas? How will I know if I know? Does your new erudition explain things that you do not control? Do these secrets make plain what you do not understand? Will you not share proof of your convictions? Are your beliefs merely rooted in sand?   There is no hate when you walk in The Way, There is no injury in reaching out, You cannot be damaged by showing some sympathy, Find out what real love is about!   Are you in opposition to the good of heart? Do you find empathy weak? Do you spurn the caring one that is truly courageous, That stands in resistance to the hate that you speak? Why is your satisfaction in cruelty, Which requires teeming cohorts to survive? How long before you find that your blind fealty, Leaves you just a drone in the hive?   There is no hate when you walk in The

  Parry   I stood in the dark Unraveling my confusion Looking for an answer For all the questions asked. I stood in the dawn Grasping threads of illusion Asking all the questions That I did not want answered. I stood in the light Dispelling all the rumors Getting all the answers To questions I hadn’t asked. I stood in the dusk Ignoring all the murmurs Fending off wrong answers And hoping I wasn’t asked. I stand again in dark Masking my confusion Wading through the answers No longer afraid to ask. I am waiting for the daylight No nearer to conclusions Waiting to make answer To all that I’ve been asked.   Cliff Lake 9/10/2022 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2022

  An Affirmation   Are you where you thought you would be? Are you the person that you once meant? Have you seen all you wished to see? Do you wonder where all the time went?   When will you know the last truth? When will you sing all that is unsung? When will you have asked the last question? Have you accomplished all that can be done?   Is there more to what you already know? When will the last bell be rung? Have you moved past what you once intended? Can the pendulum be all unswung?   Do regrets keep you in a stasis frozen? Have you adopted shadows shamed? Can you unwalk the paths that you’ve chosen? Can your aspirations be somehow reclaimed?   Can an atrophied spirit be unwithered? Will you be more than what you are not now? Are you caught in an eddy in this life’s river? Have you already taken your final bow?   Does not the sun still rise for you shining? Do not the birds still call for you to fly? Are you not sitting there

  Seeing You   Behind your cracking walls of stone, You’re hoping I just pass. That I will just go on my own, And not notice that they’re glass. Imperative I not see in, No stories to be told, No whispers of collective sin, A trail you think’s gone cold.   You won’t suspect I’ve really woken, While you cowered and you slept, You won’t believe I see you, It’s too much to accept. You don’t know I’m right behind you, You don’t see the closing net, You only know the secrets that, I know that you have kept.   You speak of all the anything, You’re telling creaky lies. You think you are deflecting, There’s holes in your disguise. I know you will never come clean, You’ve dragged too many in, But I have facts unforeseen, Your excuses have worn thin. You won’t suspect I’ve really woken, While you cowered and you slept, You won’t believe I see you, It’s too much to accept. You don’t know I’m right behind you, You don’t see the clos

  Balances   The pendulum has begun it’s swing, Though evil does not see it yet. The arc has begun its return, The median will be reached. The counterbalance has been adopted, Nature will not be denied. The ballast is its own weight, Stability finds its own level. Darkness has always been followed by light, Which is it that banishes the other? As the tides come in, so they also go out, What is exposed when the waters recede? Every action has a cause, every cause calls for action, Be careful of the seed you sow. The ravening will devour itself, If it cannot feed on the just. Hatred has no cure but death, If that is all that you made of. The end always has a beginning, And the end is because of the beginning. Parity creates itself, Like water, actions must be flush where they exist. The pendulum has begun its swing, Have a care that you are not in its way.   Cliff Lake 9/1/2022 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2022

  Hey, Former Guy…   Listen: You were made president by Russian interference.   You beat that rap even though you were caught. You mishandle and misappropriate public funds. We saw you. You beat that. You vilify and demonize public demonstrations and use excessive force. You beat that one. You drop the ball on the biggest global pandemic since WWI. The world saw you. You beat that rap. You break law after law in public while you're "president." We saw that. You beat all of that. You let racists be racists and get worse and worse and get called out for it. You beat that. You enrich yourself, your family, and cronies off of the office of the presidency and beat THAT. You incite a riot and attempt a coup... Everyone saw you. And now things might be catching up? But you can probably beat this stuff? But then you get caught with your hand deep in the cookie jar. The DOJ has documents you stole. The nature of those documents pro

  The Tide   In soiled cities and greasy towns, Broken promises are passed around. Sold they are as education, To any with less information. And the elders there accept their gold, Faulted glitters should leave them cold. They walk with steeled averted gazes, Through streets filled with starving faces. Now empty aching walking corpses, They’ve accepted their empathies’ rigor mortis.   The American Dream, it’s banners furled, Is only one part of a dying world. And money blooded in drugs and violence, Cannot fill the angry silence, Of skies and water now turned brown, By people who’ve turned their vision down. Who try self-healing with fancy cars, And bigger, cleaner, more expensive bars. And get their dirty hands in off the street, Where the others are, with naught to eat.   This is the world I that must roam, This bleeding place, this gutted home. “Increase the concrete! Tear down the green! Then rape some brains ‘til they’re scrubb

  A Summer Comment   Another day of work in summer, My muscles ache and sweat, Baking at home ‘cuz the AC’s out, My brain’s on fire yet. Three days of work left this week, With the heatwave not topped out, And no, my dear, those are not tears, That’s sweat that accentuates my pout.   And so, I sit and say things like: “Shit, it’s really fucking hot.” I might as well you know because hell, you know, I can smell my feet begin to rot. I should be thankful though, it’s not winter so, My heating bill’s real low. But just the same, I’d be just as sane, If it were twenty below.   Oh, heat is fine, in fact heat’s divine, When viewed from winter’s chill. But face it folks, it’s a heavy yoke, Just look at your electric bill. Now I LIKE summer and flowers and green, And birds singing in the trees, But I don’t like sweating or heat-dazed forgetting, Brought on by a hundred degrees.   What can you say to me, that magic remedy, That will cu

  Halffidavit   “These are coming with me.” said the man with the long tie, And because of all the chaos no one there would dare deny. He packed boxes and more boxes, no one was keeping score, Then they were taken helter-skelter down to Palm Beach shore.   Some boxes in the basement, some stashed next to the pool, But all of them that were there, were there against the rule. So, NARA sent some fellows round who said, “Hey give those back”, So, the lawyers gave them some, not all, just to throw them offtrack.   Now there’s a halffidavit, redacted through and through, You begged that everyone could see, we got a real good view. Maybe you’ll stop talking, this was a real miscue, Florida has sprung a leak and they’re standing next to you.   See, the way that records work is that they reference each other, And records keepers never shirk, above all stuff that’s undercover. So, when the NARA people took a really good long look, What they saw that they

  Faith   Lost in a labyrinth of secluded observation, Madnesses beckon in the midst of creation, Behind a wall of unwilling stiff negation, Spurning humanity out of simple frustration.   Never realizing the once glorious dreams, For lack of the harness needed for cold, malicious schemes. Life’s once-bright promise is showing it’s worn seams, Yet still holding dearly to hope’s long ‘fore-lit gleams…   Hope is like an opaque rock where we may find a stand. Dreams must be clenched tightly, Though they’re not held by hand. You must believe in yourself with all your aiming heart, You must perfect this approach, Because faith is an art.   Starvation waiting ‘round every next bend, Held at bay only through work with never a clear end. Asking for help above with yet more prayers to send, Wanting to borrow someone’s strength, yet still willing to lend…   Never bending to the constant rank assault, Of the incessant naysayer who only can find fau

  Education   In a small room with a locked door, Sits a small child with a radio. The radio only gets one station.   And he can’t hear anything else. And he won’t hear anything else.   In a larger room with a locking door, Sit a few children with their teacher. The teacher knows only one thing.   And they can’t hear anyone else. And they won’t hear anyone else.   In a large building with many, many doors, Sit hundreds of children with a handful of teachers. The teachers only know a few things.   And they can’t teach anything else. And they won’t teach anything else.   In a million homes with two million T.V.’s Sit hundreds of millions. And they’re sold what they’re allowed to dream.   And they can’t get anything else. So, they won’t get anything else.   Then… They have children.   Cliff Lake 8/27/1997 Copyright © Clifford Lake 1997

  March of the Believers   I saw some people over there Moving fast to a nowhere Filled with tales, the latest scare No time was left them to prepare   For the unnamed calamities That surely meant fatalities So they ran from the vague specter Seeking safety, a protector   At last finding what they would seek A man who of more threats did shriek He promised he was the only one Could save them from the tales he spun   What was required was they not question The exorbitant value of his protection And of course, their contribution Lest they test the retribution   Of their fellows gathered there So pony up and have a care To this mission their fealty swear Because the enemy is somewhere   So they gathered in their number With fear and hate disturbing slumber Until their minds were hollowed out Until they were made most devout   And set upon a reddened path Strewn with lies and fear and wrath To bolster the claims of cheats

  Please,   If you have a brain in working order, If logic is not anathema, If rationale has its attraction, There are notions not possible for you. You will not accept incoherent ramblings as proof of something. You will not accept a proven lie as such either. You will not accept a deflection as argument.   If you have a heart operating well, If empathy does not taste foolish, If you still truly feel, There are states you cannot countenance. You will not abide the mistreatment of other creatures. You will not abide the cessation of care. You will not abide the cackles of the oppressors.   If you have a soul that is not too begrimed, If you have not succumbed to avarice, If you still aspire to surpass yourself, There are conventions you must decry. You must lift up those that have fallen. You must teach those that will hear. You must reach out if you still have one good hand.   We are in this together, Though it may seem that you ar

Dear Mr. Helpless   Dear Mr. Helpless, what fine shape you are in, As your cells turn to fat with your hand in your chin. Perfecting your plans while you sit in your chair, As the rest of us breathe your air of despair.   Dear Mr. Helpless, your life will begin, When you put yourself back in motion. You don’t feel successful, your secret I share: You cannot hit bottom if you’re already there.   Dear Mr. Helpless, you cannot deny, You’ll stay where you are if on daydreams you rely. You’ll never make gain from what you only intend – Actions are the only means with an end.   Dear Mr. Helpless, you’ll stay nowhere soon, If all that you do is sputter, stammer, and swoon. Life is a set of choices you make, Your stagnancy reflects what chances you take.   Dear Mr. Helpless, you’re beyond my control, Beached as you are on depression’s shoal. In my asking you this, I lend you my hand: I know you can sit, but will you not stand?   Dear Mr. He

  Eats   In Coffeyville, Kansas, on 169, Is a dirty little place that invites you to dine, On burnt toast and eggs that are runny, And pieces of meat that may once have been bunny.   Now there’s only one waitress, she’s got a drippy nose, That she’s constantly wiping on the front of her clothes. The attitude she has may just lead you to murder, If she ever bothers to take your order.   And she’s not very bright, but at least she’s real slow, But she’s always really quick to tell you where to go. And she doesn’t have a pencil, and she doesn’t have a straw, And she doesn’t have a clue, and she doesn’t have a bra.   So, the food is always cold, but the coffee’s even colder, And if you ever get out, you’ll only be a little older. And the prices are high, but so is the cook, Who makes everything they serve look like some toxic gook.   So, if you’re ever in Coffeyville, (on 169), I’ve got a little tip that may save you a dime: Get in there and

  The Man Ran   The man ran from darkness, And ran into a wall. The man ran from anger, And into darkness he did fall.   The man ran from depression, And ran straight to his anger. The man ran from fear, And ran straight into his danger.   At first the man ran, But when he did stand, He found himself.   The man ran from denial, But he could not escape his own lies. The man ran from reprisal, But he could not meet his own eyes.   At first the man ran, But when he did stand, He found himself.   Where can you run, When you’re always with yourself? Under the gun, How can you be someone else?   The man ran ‘till he’d completed a circle The man ran and found his own other. The man ran to the reflection of him, The man ran until he was his own brother.     At first the man ran, But when he did stand, He found himself.   At first the man ran, But when he did stand, He found himself.   Cliff Lake 12/29/1996

  Untitled   Broken, Like the empty shells of lobsters in some tortuous god’s oblivion, He makes his way through the streets of an almost living city- Its streets strewn with the detritus of plastic lives, Broken toys of a society whose soul lived in its wallet, Only to find out that there was nothing gained. His mind reeling from the sundered colors of artificial joy, He leaves behind him a wake of things unchanged, Not seeing, Not knowing, Not accepting, Not being. He hasn’t been here. He hasn’t improved, he hasn’t destroyed, He hasn’t adjusted; he hasn’t lived in this reality: He is a ship that collects no barnacles,   A soul concocted of grease and silicon, He slips away like mercury, Leaving not a molecule to speak of his passing. He hasn’t been here. Unscented by any dog, unstung by any insect, He blunders by building after building until, Weary with the whistling loneliness, He falls into a pile of twisted limbs and heaving chest