And Mortar

my hand is in the brick, brother
and the building stands big
there are families here
a lot of past and certainly the prudent whispers of future
don't don't recoil, it all hums
but i trust the swing of your hammer, and wait

Catcall

one hundred catcalls in an hour,
"damn baby you're a piece of woman"
and the fucker broke my sister's neck,
now he's yelling at the lady at the counter and
we are all the same
until proven otherwise

paradise is a place nearest the cliffs
with women who make good whiskey and plenty
is the land
to cry a little over the good poems