I wrote this poem when I visited San Francisco during my spring break in 2003, which was when the US government "declared" war in Iraq.   

city lights and downtown heights. just
between you and me, i think this may
be close to home. (is it me or is this
city intoxicating?) i felt a twinge of hope
and desperation like pigeons' wings
(taking off.) when he called to me. to
anyone. (please.) i never saw so many
sinking into cement like the open jaws
of a desert monster. (crunch.) gaping
holes. no one pauses. "ignore-ance is
bliss," they say. but i would rather be
disturbed.

green apples. orange peels. daisies
in the night. between you and me is a
little thin air and a lot of weighted time.
silence is heavy like silver bullets hitting
the ground.

all around us is buying and selling and
eating and shitting and then what?

here comes the old question of "why?"
the duct-taped cardboard signs and
the good ol' red, white, and blue burning
in our ears. war breaks and clatters to
the pavement like an old alarm clock with
all the bells and whistles. i can't see
straight. the rain is soaking my prejudices
(and best-laid plans). i'm sighing of relief
when i smell the salty ocean. (what flavor
am i?) they say it's the only way but i only
know of oneand it doesn't taste like this.

falling in love is like this. i'm skidding
and sliding down a skid-marked, slippery
slope (stopping on a grassy knoll to read)
but the drum beats on and on and on.
("dance for us, won't ya, sistah?") i can't
dance. maybe, someday, i will. but for
now i'm going to bed. (after a cup of tea.)
good nite.