greened peaks now marble

as a dust dours golden leaves

Fūjin exhales


One year







god is an american
made of smith and wessen
from a pulpit he preach
pulling blood to the street
to put a stop pop the screech
of a sacred amendment

god is an american
possibly a publican
each tax steals a beat
lobbed pockets silver speach
gluts a lecherous leach
probably a publican

god is an american
just a pill-milled heroine
confined to the worn
of a warm violent porn
it`s what we all want adore
what`s more american?

i think
god is an american

A Coming Fall

I believe I see the first red leaves
Of the coming fall
The summer’s breeze flits in between
A lion’s roar and lull

The winds have cooled and after noon
The sun so early sets
Where mountains loom ‘neath harvest’s moon
This summer night forgets

The fattened bears in turn despair
Should winter come too late
That summer’s gains would thin and wane
Til naught could hunger state

With mother’s love Ma calls her cubs
Into a town at night
Outside the pubs in garbage tubs
She hears old songs of fright

Sweet sorrows bellow from drunken fellows
Drowned in barley’s brew
They dance and dine; their moves divine
No mind for mother’s rue

Outside the songs a chorus kaws!
Dark feathers fill the sky
From high above their forked tongues
Discern the drunkard’s lie

And wait, they wait – they cry the fates
Which mook shall make his end
Then rest in leaves – red, orange, green
Black beaks once meek now grin