I live in a nation called America,
and, today, I am human.

Can ebon wings ever quell
The mockers' cry over hell?
The thunder of their wrath?
And starry things, other worlds,
The rent, sour universe,
Which seldom halts their path?

Take off your shoulder
Your rifle and mortar
The war is over!
The war is over!
Take off your shoulder
The banners and
Rockets and targes

We're stirring the best
Of a fine hurrah,
We fought till the last
And we won the war,
We're spirited now
To home on bonny barges!

The lanes of home
Will be all aglow
When we get home,
When we get home,
The lanes of home
Will be lined
With many people

The mothers and fathers,
The lasses and lads
Will shout for joy,
And dance and be glad,
While church bells ring
Returning in the steeple!

composition: epileptic epistle
philosophic peruvian piper
coronation: kibbutz tzitzimitl

head poundings
thick broom tidings
jovial jungles
standing atop
little dark city
white shoe brings
moon death to
vesuvian-whipped
crater polis.

ornate blue mosque
smoky jazz risque
enchanted beat desque
question i asque
drum soul mahogue
undercurrent analogue

heavenly signal
as his wife's car left
and the church pastress,
a lurch of sad grace
which struck a dead horse.
"don't go, please don't go!"
but the whip came to bone,
the horse wailed alone.