The Skyline looked beautiful on fire

And God calls it a fever

And the saddest wind I ever felt

I felt it blow

Down the American river

Over the steamboats dragging gamblers by the eyebrows

Through the arguments that tied the children down

Mothers clutching babies

Lovers looking once into each others eyes

Dreamers woke in this river

For nigh is the shadows in the shallows

In the valley of death

The Towers bowed to the sky

The Bridges dove desolately into rivers

No one left out

The American River Wind has struck again

Divesting infants of eyes to see and dreams



Where are the feasts that we where promised



Whispers of cotton conversation 

And the platonic conversationalists gathered around

Sowing seeds of confusion

Letting Piety out for a stroll for piety’s staked sake

I think I smell a rat



Release

Who will be our Sisyphus

Riding through the magnificent arrows of ambient dark suppression, of wicked ambiguous oppression

Forging black winter hope from the scholars of linoleum and post modern blamelessness

Release

My forgiven path

Mandela springs in my roots and hairs and scabs

Release

Worthless thoughts and thoughtless worth

Patterned approved fallen brick lights surround the broke mans jacket in the cold

False prophetic attempts of perfection hook me

Release

Im seeding a forest in my mind of Tillich elms and hopeful Blake Tragedies

And its rooting



At First Flash of Eden

We will look at each other

And see each other for the first time

We shall run from our lunar wombs

From our combat tombs

Emerge dripping from the sea

To settle in a cottage

Deep within the western night