Self-serve your own war

When you walk you click-clack now
  stick your head in the door
  as if there's more to your bygone faith
  than tossing out Jehovah with the cold Chinese food

Like down off Broadway, south of the hill
  there's a new Jazz club w/ sweet and sour note grub
  for all your taste buds
  and all your pals say: you should leave town
  come back with a gold mine strapped on your back
  as if there were no more cares
  just wash and wear your life on the clothes, line like you did before the flood

  when children ran naked from the napalm
  Taxis slid slow down the boulevard
  & those Cadillac pimps pumped up the bass
  near your place of solitude
  with the window bars & the double parked cars

Way before the time you went to a law man with gun in hand
  ran your 6 shooter bang bang barrel like a lead knife
  like he might rise if you pause the trigger

Your bragging was a huge hoot
  [Grandma didn't know you then, she was busy with catfish]
  but you found out about clout
  THE MAN brings on down to the plank table when you cross his own
  his lungs get LARGE,  his finger itchy for playing the fool
  You: fasting a make-believe week to speak to the Lord

It's over now. You found a dime in a phone
  spoon fed yourself for a while taking a bath only on Lent
  Spent all your capital gains on cocaine
  as if the leaves might disappear into the Earth
  before your nose can catch their magic act
  at the Bijou place w/ the dark stained seats
  and the girly shadows flickering on a loose-projector-bulb screen

  No popcorn. Gummy Bears, to keep you ripe
  like a true American Hero marching back to cheers and flags and hot cornbread

But you left your paper chains on the bench
  rose to say a word or two
  when the third excuse just popped out and you were running
  Back to the hotel downtown where you flop
  stop your thoughts from reminding you
  Smoothing your distress that since the war was steering you

No lonesome death in a ditch for you though!
  Crossing tracks, you're back on a sideshow saddle
  & if you find a Creek, you will have an addled means
  of floating to the lake and staking your reputation on draining it.

  Fill two million coke bottles, sell them at a fair
  File a lawsuit for clean air in your spare bedroom
  Put an Automatic Rifle in your hand

It brings you around to the grip you once knew
  before you chewed your foot off in a trap
  went back down to the street, limping.

David Rizzi is a poet / drummer / composer living in Seattle. He reads, performs, and facilitates poetry workshops around the Pacific Northwest. David was the winner of the 1st WordStorm Poetry Competition held on Vancouver Island in British Columbia, and a winner of the 2008 Jeanne Lohmann Poetry Prize. He currently performs with a musical / poetry collaborative group, Band of Poets.

His first poetry collection, vibrant city of Bones, came out in 2006. Since then, he has published two other collections: Conversations with Jack, and Declaration. His latest project is a five volume epic tale that deals with a succession of physical and spiritual journeys, and eccentric adventures told from multiple perspectives.