America

America,

I miss you

though I’ve not yet left.

America,

Venice Beach beneath

a burning, blasting sun.

My burning heart for you,

America.

How long can you withstand?

America,

buses and deserts

and,

somewhere,

coyotes…

America,

Oklahoma, suburbs

and questions, America.

Fears for you

in my churning gut.

America,

just how

will they loot your legacy?

America,

Texas and longhorns

and NFL with pizza.

Jazz and sweat

in New Orleans

and dirty secrets

of a city

that sweats on a port.

America,

so confident.

I fear for you.

The mob attacks

the shining city upon a hill.

They want to clean you out.

They need to clean their rooms.

America,

the mirror in our rooms

reflecting the image

we see in ourselves.

America,

you fought the Crown

then fought yourself

for a

yet greater

America.

Warrior, liberator

in dark nights of the soul,

you’re Susan B. Anthony,

Dr King,

General Patton.

Are you on your knees,

America?

—Your history, your anthem, your children

mobbed.

America,

if you go

we go.

America,

you’re Jim Crow,

you’re strange diseases like CNN.

But more,

you’re Jefferson, you're Lincoln.

You’re enslaver but,

much more,

emancipator;

a people

that shine a light upon a hill.

America,

you’re the stretched fabrics

of all the world has sewn

and yet remain

the greatest

we’ve ever known.

The Mormons and I

I met the Mormons this eve

as they walked the pavement

and seemed to be

the last of modernity’s baby teeth

—those that refused to drop

and held to the gums

to prevent the poison from seeping in

completely.

I met the Mormons

on their two year assignment.

I was grateful for their suits,

ties

and straight haircuts

waving us into eternity

as the devil prepares

to take those ignoring the call.

Because in any case,

if the Mormons are wrong

it’s just about the devil’s timing

—the devil has already been throwing his party

for one hell of a time.

That is,

the devil of boredom,

conflict

and fear.

So many of us

despise our lives

yet fear a change

—that’s the devil.

Meanwhile,

on these bland secular streets

the colour of purgatory,

Mr and Mr Mormon march on

—just a couple of kids across the world

adventuring for god

and waiting for the world to end.

They may well have their facts bent,

but these lads—for two years at least—

are living.

These Mormons are preaching

something bigger than facts

—something bigger even

than god.

Airports

I'm unsure if the planes,
the tickets,

the luggage

or people

are where the spark is set,

but airports set my life

alight.

Those birds, those

steel

birds,

flying though heavier

even

than our hearts can get…

Those engines roar of hope

and chances.

The tickets…

—each a checkpoint, a gateway,

a shot at the other side.

The luggage…

—my home for 6 months,

     still my world more spacious than runways.

And the people?

They’re telling stories

even when passed out across Departures.

That girl there’s in transit;

that guy there’s apprentice to this all.

And that one there?

It’s hard to tell.

They could be tears of joy

or of farewell.

The most important thing

We're standing here,
bro,
caught

on a cliff at the edge of the world.

Yer, we can argue politics
     but the surf
     bangs
     against the rocks
               then stretches to oblivion.

No one is listening,
nobody cares
and neither do we.
Seven years of this
and all we’ve convinced each other
is that we love each other.

It was never about opposing views
—turns out
we just enjoyed the chats,
come what may.

I’m alone again.
You know I’m shit at love
and in gales
at edges of the world
I can’t yell loud enough
to coach my heart.

But you’re here, bro,
as the world wars
and my heart hunts bunkers for guns
to turn one on itself.

Maybe through us
it’ll learn how to love.
We disagree on almost everything
and yet
that’s coming to be our favourite part.

Through the trauma of the world
and the cruelty of the heart,
we’ve found our little nook at the edge of it all
to pretend
that something other than company
is the most important thing
after all.

Is

god is that

which is greater

than god.

Squeeze

I want to squeeze you

into me.

I wouldn’t stop

if you didn’t need to breathe.

Love hurts as much

as it heals

when unable to melt

you through me.

There’s hurt

in loneliness, yes,

but hurt

in knowing love

as well:

the former a cancer,

the latter an ache

that can’t be slain;

that could only numb

if somehow I squeezed

—melted—

you into me.

Little sparrow

Little sparrow in my heart:

seems as if we soon will part.

Stay inside for some time more

though your flutters make me sore.

Little sparrow: chant your tune.

Seems as if you’re leaving soon.

Break my heart just one more day

for the girl that’s gone away.

Little sparrow: when you leave,

taking with you all I grieve,

take the ache within my chest.

Wait before you take the rest.

Leave me with the thought of her

long enough to feel it stir.

Little sparrow: then you may

take it all and fly away.