Linen and Lies

I think he liked me
In violet linen on the farm.
I lay in his arms.
His tongue tasted of clover.
I licked his face clean
like a puppy.
Arms akimbo, he lay
Laughing into the sun.

The highway is strewn with lies,
Stretching from sea to sea.
Along route 66 Dylan
Strums Tambourine man
In washed-out mists
and sings of hard rains.
The highway is strewn with lies
Like empty beer cans, broken brown bottles,
and cigarette butts along the way.

In the mornings, one can see
The bodies of the dead
In the highway debris.
Vietnam Afghanistan Iraq Iran
Lying with beer cans, butts,
and bullet casings.
Young men dead from too many lies.
Our blue-eyed brown-eyed sons
Who've never heard a poem,
Or tasted a truthful tongue.