The Lies We Grow

The lies we grow

Holding on to truth

Until it’s expiration

Renders it false

How can we deal with lies

When they are full grown

What might have been truth

Is no longer



Flares Erupted from Neighbors

Flares erupt

From a distant


In the galaxy

In the universe

Of stars and planets

We see the burst of a powerful flare

In the telescopes on the ground


Ask the Bank

How to stop

The making of guns

We have to stop the funding

From which the fountain


Banks can say no

Not just protests

But asking the right questions

The right people

Can cut off the making

Of weapons that kill



Letting go of troubles


How can one man live

In expensive cars

And neighborhoods

While others are punished

And pay time

Some run scot-free

While others due time


Dirty Hands

Dirty hand

Never quite know

That in the depths washed

You can not quite get all of the


If dirt is on the hands of man

Whose hands toil in the dirt

No notice is paid

But on the hands of a banker

On the hands of a tycoon

We wonder

Where does this dirt come from

The dirty hands

That can’t be washed clean