Rendering history bit by bit

History now is stuck in bits.

Which, if you had time,
-like years-

could be written
on millions of blackboards
or scratched on walls.

Even nuance can be captured
if you have enough ones
and zeros.

Hamlet rendered
with the light switch
in a skid row hotel room,

if you have enough dough
for for a shit load
of Adderall and take out.

Bluebellies

A bluebelly lizard

basking on the warm asphalt

of the driveway

scurried under the deck

in front of the house

when he saw me arrive.

I used to catch them

when i was eight or nine

or forty one. I probably

still could. And without

breaking their tails.

It’s enough to see them now,

the first one of spring

on the driveway.

Bluebellies and poppies,

that’s how I mark spring. 

Too much

Dragons row their wings 
above sun bright towers.
At least for the moment,
in the east, faster and faster.

Such variety, such looks!

that's what happens inside:

too much ugly, too much

of the same old venom

lingers on their tongues.

Too much red, white, and blue,

oozes down from tall offices

or up from the street to the clouds.

In need of an update of the limits:

Too many customers shopping

for ammo, coffins, and bunting.

A river of vomit pours out the doors

of courtrooms, from pulpit to podium,

down the steps of the state houses.

Too much pavement, not enough

garden. We’ve had plenty of apple

for now, don’t you think? So familiar

with falling that we forget about grace.