Americana behavior belief death destruction deviance Uncategorized

god is an American

god is an American
god is a Baptist preacher
fingering your mother
behind a revival tent
god is a priest
who shoots your baby
with an uzi full of holy water
god is the monsignor who sodomized your brother
god is a plague carrier
god is a destroyer of men
god hates your gay marriage
god sold the first bump of fentanyl to your junkie sister
god is Fox news
god is a high school drop out who sells used cars
god has a concealed carry permit
god formed a militia
god gave us a sexually transmitted president
god has nations buried in his basement
god is the voice whispering in the ears of tyrants
god is a compound burning in Waco
god is a nuclear warhead
god is a plane crashing into the world trade center
god is the Westboro Baptist Church picketing a soldier’s funeral
god killed Jesus
god is an American


frankly, my dear…

the south is on fire
not in that charming
general sherman sort of way
the north is unemployed
so they elected a german
grand wizard of real estate
to be our next failure
son of a scottish housekeeper
who makes jokes about émigré
the west is busy crushing red Indians
our national past time has always been
genocide and polluting waterways
take heart, americans
there were only mass stabbings yesterday
and i’m fairly sure
lady liberty just miscarried
baby new year
blood is running down ellis island
into muddied waters of the bay
melt down the scales of justice
brass knuckles
will have their say

Americana behavior nightmares poetry

at night

it is not my place

to anguish on his behalf

but i do

i fear he lies awake at night

thinking his life

is someone else’s dream

and wondering

if they are enjoying it

Americana destruction poetry writing

the bigger bomb

this isn't happiness

i blame

the self esteem movement

of the 1970’s

for our loss of humility

me-monster generations

of inflated egos

with honorable mention ribbons

butterfly blinking their vapid eyes

this is america

we’re more concerned

with the packaging

than the contents

of our






watch a super bowl half time show

to learn

why other countries hate us

but what more

can we expect

from a country founded

on the impossible

a world to colonize

an ocean away

puritans turned pentecostals


who invented

the bigger bomb

committing genocide

legislating slavery

as they handle snakes

solicit our vote

and speak in tongues

art books childhood cinema comedy ecology education happiness history Jazz Music nature poetry publishing religion rituals Short Stories sociology the arts traditions Urban Legends war

a key mineral lacking

it began to notice it midsummer

when i initiated the ritual

of my daily

life affirming

early evening

bicycle rides

my perfect aerial

machine so blue

cutting through

a synthetic mist

of suburban dryer vent exhaust

lavender lilac and vanilla scented chemicals

emitted from the latest

maytag gag-o-matic

into one bastard cloud

i decided

all of suburban cincinnati is covered in a

gently revolting incidental smog

of old lady perfume

in this gloaming time

the cul-de-sac wives

huddle into two groups

those who drink wine and smoke

while waiting for the pills to kick in

and those who just drink wine

while waiting for the pills to kick in

bitching about their husbands on cue

as they stand indignant

in various shades of pink velour yoga pants

at the end of their driveways

just far enough away

so the enemy

won’t hear

the hot-boxed group

of matching husbands


“i pay the mortgage and the only place

i have any privacy from that bitch and these kids

is the fucking garage”


whist drinking middling domestic imports

in a town whose pricey micro brews they can’t afford

all to protect the delicate sensibilities

of the lord of the flies children

playing between them

on tonka battery powered humvees

bedecked with

nerf machine gun turrets


duct taped half-chewed barbies

with their eyes gouged out

to tiny-tot thailand

i get the sense

there is death in the water

a key mineral lacking

in our national diet

the country is filled

with these fleeting nightmares

communities of sheep

vying for space at a diseased trough


american wastelands

where the coffee tastes of bad choices

and everyone is waiting

for the kids to be old enough

to get a divorce

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing


the news man says rebels have once
again taken over parts of iraq
and all i can think of is

that blonde haired
blue eyed boy
they captured
in a convoy

the one they took video of
with guns to his head
then beheaded
before they burned his body
and strung it up in the street

that blonde haired
blue eyed boy who went to my high school
who died for a government’s lies
planting seeds of democracy

that blonde haired
blue eyed boy
who is the reason
the little community where i grew up
will never stop hanging up yellow ribbons

oh yes
mr. president
as if we ever left
let’s make sure these wars are mistakes
that keep on giving


greetings from the colonies

it is sacrilege for me to say
i don’t care for the 4th of july

staking our independence perpetually
on someone else’s claim

i’m not unpatriotic for saying
every death in battle
is a death in vain

blowing our thumbs off
detonating explosives
is an american tradition

if we love our troops so much
let’s stop finding new and improved ways
for them to die

we sailed on a refugee ship from religious oppression
so that we could become more oppressive

the dutch wouldn’t let us stay more than a few nights
they didn’t want our puritanical bullshit
fucking up their children’s minds

my grandmother’s ghost
beaded with genocide
told me
you can’t discover a place
where other people are already living

america was built on a native graveyard

that’s why our culture is plagued
by angry poltergeists
and our child’s hands are glued
to a static tv
listening to paul revere
they’re here

the british weren’t so bad


i love tea

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends


my priority was silence

after being weighed
and cavity searched
by tsa agents

i just wanted to find a quiet chair near my gate
within the noisy LAX terminal

preferably a dark corner
with no other passengers within twenty feet

lacking over-molested copies of the LA Times
and the pink sugary crumbs
of well traveled two year olds

ah, there it was
my weary feet and rolling carry-on
made their way toward flight deck utopia

a rounded blue row of seating
right by the tinted night windows

my eyes were swollen from crying
i didn’t want to leave the city
or the love i had come to find there

unable to read, think, have a smoke or a drink
all i had at that moment
was a peaceful spot
in the airport
before my red eye back home

that’s when he walked over
disturbing my solitary meditation

a learned looking man
accompanied by a worn brown leather miami university attache

i suspect he felt safer near a fellow buckeye
smiling as he read my sweatshirt
which reads
college of mortuary science cincinnati

he asked if he could sit
certainly i replied
this area is annexed for Ohio

we exchanged life stories

24 hours he had been on a layover
in Los Angeles
on his way back from China

he said he was a professor

who had been sent there
to teach the chinese
how to slowly kill
the American economy

the exquisite irony
wasn’t lost on me

because he was positively green
his skin gray
eyes glassy
silvery hair dusted black
from breathing particulate from coal plants
and suicide net surrounded factories
floating in the Beijing air for the past three weeks

his shaking hands
pulled out a stash of respirator masks
still in his pocket

the sight horrified me

it was the first time i realized that all was lost

the human race is near extinction

that inconvenient truths are
merely the tip of a melted iceberg
given the reality of irreversible damage


i got up and threw away
the remainder of my give-a-fuck
hearing the girl from ipanema went walking

now boarding boomed

as i traipsed down the ramp to the tin can
not caring as much if it safely landed

full of the knowledge

we’re building cell phone towers
on the corpse of a planet

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

for john

he sits back all kerouac
with the holy city rising behind him

he is
the embodiment
of everything a lesser poet ever wanted to say
but wasn’t brave enough to write

he is
my america

he is
the way a man should wear a hat

he is

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

what i was before time began

this morning my heart wishes to emerge
from my red door
having my feet
find a cobblestone street
in London

on another day it would be old Bombay
or the day
i waved goodbye
to Powhatan

my mind has remembered
what i was before time began

mistress of her own molecules

now my soul is insistent
upon traveling backward

*For John Burroughs, peace to you, old friend.