Gerald Moose weaves a poem of the Gulf of America with some inspiration from the music of John Prine. A recent executive order explains the new Department of Was.

Department of Was – “That which goes against the Tao, comes to an early end.” Lao TzuIn, In times of change, things that are evident often get more evident, until …..well. Like the John Prine song says, “I heard sirens on the train track, how naked, getting nuder.”

The Executive Branch is renaming the Dept of Defense to the Dept of War. This does not broadcast a message of strength, but weakness. At some point, the more you shoot, the fuller of holes you get. Here’s a poem I wrote a few months back. How naked, getting nuder.

The Gulf of America

the new name fits it
as it grows wider

plow through to first
plow under the rest

insults fired like bullets
only make us full of holes

any leader who worships fear
can never be fearless

only the fearless
can love and heal

in this time of wounding

Take a moment for John Prine - Bruised Orange (Chain of Sorrow) 

John Prine - Bruised Orange (Chain of Sorrow) 

My heart's in the ice house come hill or come valley
Like a long ago sunday when I walked through the alley
On a cold winter's morning to a church house
Just to shovel some snow

I heard sirens on the train track howl naked gettin' nuder
An altar boy's been hit by a local commuter
Just from walking with his back turned
To the train that was coming so slow

You can gaze out the window, get mad and get madder
Throw your hands in the air, say "what does it matter?"
But it don't do no good to get angry
So help me I know

For a heart strained in anger grows weak and grows bitter
You become your own prisoner, as you watch yourself sit there
Wrapped up in a trap of your very own
Chain of sorrow

I been brought down to zero, pulled out and put back there
I sat on a park bench, kissed the girl with the black hair
And my head shouted down to my heart
"You better look out below!"

Hey, it ain't such a long drop don't stammer don't stutter
From the diamonds in the sidewalk to the dirt in the gutter
And you carry those bruises to remind you wherever you go

You can gaze out the window get mad and get madder
Throw your hands in the air, say "what does it matter?"
But it don't do no good to get angry
So help me I know

For a heart strained in anger, grows weak and grows bitter
You become your own prisoner, as you watch yourself sit there
Wrapped up in a trap of your very own
Chain of sorrow

My heart's in the ice house come hill or come valley
Like a long ago sunday when I walked through the alley
On a cold winter's morning to a church house
Just to shovel some snow