Fatman

1/13/91

Fatman rules the world

Fatman owns my house

Fatman got the mortgage papers

Fatman’s not my grandfather,

He’s got no beard, he’s got

no hair, his mouth is soft

and wet.

Everybody works for

Fatman, he’s got your

punchcard on database

Fatman’s not the President,

Even he works for him,

Fatman doesn’t get elected.

Fatman lives at the beach.

He looks ridiculous in

Arnette glasses, but nobody

says anything.

Even he complains when

the oil slick washes ashore,

Then he goes back inside

To check his Texaco stock.

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~~We’re only children,~~

~~Too young to drink~~

Drunken in the night,

But I’d really like to

know just who gave

You the right to send

us to die so far from

~~our~~ their eyes.

I was watching TV

Just the other day,

And I wondered, just

who has the right,

To send anyone kid to

fight so far from his

mother’s side.

We’re only children,

But we know what’s

right,

Got to stop listening

To leaders, got to

follow follow ourselves,

The whole world wide.

There’s always a fat

man on a hill, gonna

send us somewhere someday,

You’re a soldier now, a

man, but he don’t

understand.

Dear Susie,

Though you’re far away,

I still hear your voice.

There’s no oxygen, and the

moon is somehow darker

than it should be, but

your voice lingers among

the grey sullen boulders

and ~~yielding~~ soft

crumbling craters that

dot the surface of this

desolate little speck.

Perhaps I’ll leave next

week, when the shuttle

comes again.

Every morning reveals

another fortune, the stones

here are filled, so

precious ~~metals~~, filled

with fantastic alloys of every

grade.

But every morning’s

another hell, like Dante’s

inner circle, hell at

its deepest is cold and

small and lonely, like

this place.

But it is warm in

here, and the quiet is

nice, maybe I’ll stay another

month.