Not a hill of beans:
our love, our fights,
our flirting with the depths of life…
not a hill of beans
under this angry sky
building up cloudy warheads
raining fury down
on all the tiny romances
that scurry scared
under the shoes and scourge
of geopolitics.

Play it again, Sam,
in case you haven’t heard
the dissonance between the one or two
and the many.
Play it again,
but this time add a solo
in the minor scale of sacrifice
as I cry at the bar into my glass
over the woman, the world and the wound
I love