Last Night in America

Over distant winds I am a feather that floats
Rising and falling towards a land that waits
The streets are humming coldly from it's lonely weary throat
I let the clouds grab me to get me back in place

I'm a branch traveling slowly on the current of time
Delivered by deafeaning howls of a moon that's out of sight
The air that moves around me dethrone the big blue sky
And makes this wood invisible to morning & to night

Deep as forests, steep as those hills
Clear as water, hours will fulfill
A rooted longing that never has expired
To lie in the heart and flesh of my city with my breath open wide

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The April Showers

April 4, 2011


It’s a dark afternoon.
War is happening.
Everyone around me is being shot by machine guns. Some try to fire back but die anyway.
I am unarmed. Large beat-down walls surround me and I am at the center of it all.
Bullets fly in all directions. I run as fast as I can and reach a street that no one seems to cover.
I see my brother inside a tree trunk. He lets me inside and I duck as he stands on top to guard me.

It is night and I arrive at a rebel camp where two of my friends are there.
The old woman tells me that the baby in the crib is mine.
I tell her it’s not as my wife is at home and she is just pregnant.
They all insist that I am the father and as I go nearer to the child, I increasingly get scared.
An eerie orchestral music plays along.
I wake up but it still plays.
I turn off the radio and make a sign of the cross.

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