The labyrinths
that time creates
vanish.

(Only the desert
remains.)

The heart,
fountain of desire,
vanishes.

(Only the desert
remains.)

The illusion of dawn
and kisses
vanish.

Only the desert
remains.
A rolling
desert.

America, is that you?
Your stars are looking dim.
Stripes look nice on prison clothes,
but yours are wearing thin.

America, is that you
there behind the mask?
Of course, I too, am wearing mine.
You don't need to ask.

America, is that you
angry in the street,
smashing windows, spreading fire?
And is your dream complete?

America, was it you
I saw on evening news
dancing like a circus monkey,
speaking as you're cued?

America, is that you
propped up by the wall
with little men surrounding you,
waiting for your fall?

America, use your voice
and let me know it's you.
I can't hear much over the noise
that's coming from the zoo.

America, it must be you,
though I can hardly see.
I'm feeling for you in the dark.
America, it's me.

O come to me daughter of peace
The songs you sing so soft and sweet
Your vision clear and near complete
Stand proud with open arms to greet

I tell myself
I'm never going to write another love poem,
but then I put pen to paper
and end up w/ a poem about how
you broke my ******* . . .
anyway, I guess I'm trying to say
there are more things to write about than you.

I'd like to get God and George Soros
in the same room for a while
and figure out what went wrong.

She was born in a mushroom cloud,
1945.
Uranium halo 'round her head
and stars inside her eyes.

They pulled her from her desert womb
and the whole world with her cried.
"The War is Over!" Peace at last!
Mother Atom had arrived.