are they coming for us

or do they just wanna put faces

to those they consider the enemy

is there a new fashion trend

or is it just the fascism

of square shoulders and brown shirts

i keep looking for the common denominator

and all i've come up with is just a facsimile

of a hammer and virus rolled into

a labor participation rate

they want to club you with

i know i'm asking for it

but here's my simplistic answer

to all of the ideologues

dead & alive

just mix one part from each

& stir thoroughly

trump-putin-roy cohn-stalin-mao-andrew jackson-jefferson davis

might as well throw in lukashenko

all built on the foundations of franco-hitler-mussolini

don't worry about chronological order

in this new world disorder

and of course

add your many thousands

     their knees and heels

     on your neck

--- e b bortz

before the hurricane

blew it to bits

the island counter top

in the kitchen

let the poems & ants

mingle like a quiet

off-season mosquito coast

no parallels with hemingway

or humphrey bogart key largo

storms and words come & go

it's hard to find a beginning

if you dwell in the endings

plywood is at a premium

as the winds pick up from the south

every body of sweat like the surf

brings you to another precipice

before you drip in unison with the marsh

mangroves bend

trying to hold the roots

like anchors

vultures & turkey vultures

hide until it all blows over

iguana highway     the last resting place

for the stragglers

dead or alive

--- e b bortz

steam escapes a bathroom window

at sunrise

reminiscent of

2 hots & a cot

a few doors down

from the salvation army store

key west

there's red paint

like blood

to prove you were there

the poets left phrases

they no longer wanted

some of them wandering off

to look for the old used bookstore

along truman avenue

everything has changed

and maybe

nothing has really changed

put a mask on

you need to dodge

the border patrol

and the virus

as it burns through

every charlatan

& magic potion

--- e b bortz

school of the americas watch

photos by Sandra L Hazley

november 2006

i've seen poets leave their words

tucked in a cyclone fence

surrounding fort benning georgia

just down the road

from the sniper school

the military police

surge up to the fence line one more time

their eyes looking through you

with an awkward determination

& cold sweat

across the street

there's a neon sign

advertising payday loans

& storage lockers

when your time comes

it's best to travel light

the prisons will once again fill

with hearts & minds

handmade wooden crosses

     remain

to speak the names of the innocent

--- e b bortz

earth note 754

a murder of crows

an early gathering

on patched asphalt

before the road heats up

fast food ain't what it used to be

scattering like a smorgasbord

looking like they're about to leave

most of it for the raccoons

they were saying something like

hold the mayo til the weather cools off

--- e b bortz

earth note 753

my trunk put me down on all-fours

like a boxer reaching an eight-count

i was never really prepared for this

a roundhouse outta nowhere

had me bowing to the green hills

like an atonement

a sight you can't describe

but need to

before they die

it's never too late for deference

once you've tasted

raw earth

--- e b bortz

only a poem can close its eyes

and hit a concrete wall on purpose

call it a wake up or epiphany

if that fits

like i wanna spit

out a long shot

dream up the lines

back from irrelevance

raise the dead if necessary

take that proverbial sledgehammer

& smash the so-called writer's block

before it disappears on its own

(then you're really left with nothing)

let it go into a thousand pieces

without pagination

(no one laid down any rules here)

make it up as you go

--- e b bortz

earth note 752

a heat wave

can test the bounds

of your imagination

you look for an escape

as you swallow hard

on every thought

your skin speaks

a different language

as it turns to sandpaper

when the river finally appears

let it touch your feet

kiss the willows as they're drooping

like a lover

waiting for an answer

pace each step

as a fleeting moment

like a long walk home

--- e b bortz