UNDER THE GUN

Under the gun…everybody’s under the gun…presidents…rock stars…diplomats…nuns…everybody’s under the gun…Philippines…Mexico…Texas…Ohio…parking-lots…playgrounds…everybody’s under the gun

One day you may feel the fear anytime you hear a helicopter – helicopter – helicopter – helicopter – over your head…RUN…you’ll be under the gun

Europe is under the gun… Rio is under the gun…Western Sahara…Chad and Ethiopia…Uganda is under the gun.

Housewives…superstars…right wing death squads…boss on the job…everybody’s under the gun

Take a trip to the East the belly of the beast Iraq Iran dead babies in the sand…Turkey…Syria…Lebanon…Afghanistan…everybody’s under the gun

One day you may feel the terror of looking down the barrel of a semi-automatic bought at a gun show sponsored by a city…FREEZE…

Café Racer…Cascade Mall…Jewish Federation…everybody’s under the gun

Chicago…L.A…even little Santa Fe

Some day you may feel the terror of red lights…blue lights…sirens in the distance…HANDS UP…

Under the gun…everybody’s under the gun.

LITANY

The little violence

            grows

The murmur of violence

            grows

The unheeded violence

            grows

The common violence

            close to surface

            easily rendered

The everyday violence of language and gesture

The sharp words of friends, total strangers, or lovers

            out in a flash

            gone in a flash

            take lives of their own

            find strength with their own

The everyday violence

            grows

The little violence

            grows

Feeding on apathy

            dull consent

As etiquette, training, straight jackets

            break

And the violence grows

And the darkness grows

And we cry in our sleep

            scream in our dreams

            of violence

And look for a Jesus

            violence

Or look for a Ghandi

            violence

Or look for a King

            violence

Or look to ourselves

            and cry out a prayer

            beg for a light

To lead us through

            this darkness

            this violence.


HAVE MERCY ON US


Dearly Departed

I
humbly beseech you

Saints and Sinners

Pray for Us

we are barbarians and fools

ora pro nobis
dona nobis pacem
miserere nobis

Amen

(102 unarmed black victims of police shootings - 13 officers have been charged with crimes, 6 for one murder - the crimes have ranged from misdemeanors to murder.)

(photo credits - cartoon "Under the Gun"  www.cartoonmovement.com; "Litany"  businessinsider.com)

           

FRANK’S ENCHANTED WORLD VAUDEVILLE (Starring Frank): Gang Bang Frankie

Two years ago, after a surgery and up to my eyeballs in Oxy, I wrote an eight part piece titled Frank’s Enchanted World Vaudeville (Starring Frank.)  To keep it real I performed the work after I’d recuperated.

Frank’s etc… is personal mythology comprised of a smidgen of autobiography and a whole lot of fantasy/fabrication.  Frank is an alter-ego, but he’s also pure myth – a warped Paul Bunyan or Pecos Bill.

Why “Frank?”  It strikes me as a particularly American name, albeit East Coast, and of a generation.  Francis, Frank, Frankie – ol’ blue eyes… 

Here’s another piece of it, to the approximate tune of an ugly song I learned in the Army - Gang Bang Lulu.

GANG BANG FRANKIE

Frankie had a habit

he could never shake

when Frankie went without his dope

his whole wide world would ache

But the boys they liked to feed him

and keep him on the nod

working out their daily grunt

while Frankie dreamed of God

Singing gang bang Frankie

Gang bang Frankie

Gang bang Frankie

Banging all night long

Frankie holed up in the basement

had some blankets and a bed

a burner that he used for heat

a bulb above his head

He had no big ideas

the bulb would signify

when it flickered

Frankie shivered

curled up and wish’d he’d died

Singing gang bang Frankie

Gang bang Frankie

Gang bang Frankie

Banging all night long

The diner it was spankin’ clean

and always lit too bright

but Frankie found his refuge there

and made it through the night

One time the cops surrounded

Frankie’s vinyl booth

they said you gotta come with us

we just can’t leave you loose

They dragged him to the station

threw him in a cell

before young Francis died he saw

another piece of hell.

Singing gang bang Frankie

Gang bang Frankie

Gang bang Frankie

Banging all night long.

ELEGY FOR A VET

There was this young guy, Hood - I don't remember, maybe never heard, his first name - who rotated from Nam to our unit in Germany.  He had the sweetest face, and the saddest eyes, and I had a little crush on him, but I stepped way back because that just couldn't happen.  Hood was a loner, and I never saw him hanging with anyone.  He was a SP4, combat, airborne, and got busted down the ranks to Private, and then was gone.  I don't know what happened to him.  This is a fiction about all the sweet guys who got ruined.

ELEGY FOR A VET

The idiots marched him

from the paddies

to the peaks

from the jungle

to the forest

from the cold war

to the tropics

and back again.

Anymore –

he didn’t give a shit.

Beyond anywhere

he watched death

smudge everything

even the air.

Worlds collide

Flesh panics

Shoots smack with the whores in Saigon

drops through smooth and dark

ultimate airborne

falling

forever

forever

falling

Passed out drunk

curiously warm

in a snow bank

in Montana

That's where he died.

That’s where they found him.

Here's another one:

Counting Cadence

War

American as apple pie

G.I. - government issue

Your soul might belong to God,

but your ass belongs to the US Army.

Hood, sweet young sad eyed G.I.

Pissed off

emptied out

Stretched too thin for fuck you

just wants left alone

Rotated

outta Nam

to cool your heels

do your time

low profile

Deutschland

but

worlds collide

would collide

no matter where

no matter what

Ghost kid

had that look

scared everybody

Could have dissolved

no energy to him

occupied so little space hardly there

but

Couldn’t stay straight

couldn’t abide

pissed off

emptied out

fuck you

insubordinate

Fuck You

no matter who

no matter where

Universal Code of Military Justice

got him

Count Cadence!  Count:

Spec 4

busted

PFC

busted

Private

busted

court martial

stockade

gone

Bring it on down:

airborne

ranger

combat

sad eyed

gone

Hood

sweet young

G.I.

Hood

U.S. Army

made him a ghost

disappeared him off

the face of their

spit shined

brass buckled

highly starched

cold

war

universe

Sweet young sad eyed G.I.

gone.

YA UN RAT

When I was studying French in high school, we learned a song titled, "Y'a un rat dans l'grenier," and though I've mistranslated "grenier," the title and the tune have stuck with me all my life.  Here's what I've finally made of it:

Rats in the granary

rifles and flashlight

blast those eyeballs

shiny and bright

good for a joke

good for a laugh

got enough ammo

time will pass

bored to death

Saturday night

rats in the granary.

Train at the crossing

boys on foot

boxcar’s open

let’s have a look

grab the ladder

grab the dream

train starts movin’

whistles scream

bored to death

Saturday night

train at the crossing

rats in the granary.

Youth ain’t long

sure is hard

spend your life

in your own backyard

go to school

go to church

alarm clock rings

out you lurch

dead end job

in your dead end town

with your dead end girl

and your dead end crowd

rats in the granary.

Drink drank drunk

Marine Corps, man

fall asleep loaded

rise in the sand

trade your toys

for a bigger gun

trade the rats

for rag-head fun

you’re a killer now

sights on jihad

all grow’d up

and you’re bad

rats in the granary.

Rotate home

nothing in mind

take a quick look

here’s what you find

people in the streets

talking to god

sitting on the curb

life on the nod

stand in line

shuffle to the shelter

Saturday night

helter skelter

rats in the granary

rats in the granary

rats in the granary...

Seattle

11.02.2016

 Raffi has a kinder, gentler take on it:  Ya Un Rat