Tepid damp and lukewarm night,
Build your camp by rivers bright;
Sable black and and somber grey,
Silt the river's arms away.

Island tenements rent for cheap,
Bakèd bricks in plinths lie deep;
Stores of merchants and their wives,
Sheltered from the thund'rous tides.

Glance on that maternal shrine,
Softly angled toward the Rhine;
See the men with flowing beards,
Seldom entertaining fears.

Moon illumes a stony pose,
Sun sustains a garden rose;
Temple pillars bathed in or,
Leave mute shadows on the floor.

Olifant horns begin to sound,
Tribesmen fall upon the town;
Riding with the northern gust,
Trampling the homes to dust.

Yet, as gateside rocks abound,
From the ashes, rises now,
Where that city met disgrace,
A mighty fortress in its place.

***-a-boo

The Syrian woman is not my lover
12yo locked in the basement
@ sonic speed---

She is love, tortured in a black site
under the command of UFOs
We are capable of using tracts
of land for our cattle to graze
(corporate states paving the way)---

She's been pregnant two years straight,
haunted by her own womb, my girl;
she loves me in deserted desert towns---
Daesh won't find us here,
they will give up the Herculean task
of removing the moon from the sky---
I've only ever dated a poet once
again & again---she was crazy of course,
bug-eyed little green woman---

Israel allies with the DPRK
& gets bought by the Disney corp.
& **** Germany is franchised
& merchandised---

Disney buys *******
& puts black bunny on a red-and-white
background & u'll see, there will be
**** bunnies---transmen will fear them;
America gets its collective rocks off
instead of the ugly realization
that an old white man is ******* ur ****
Peek-a-boo

I remeber long nights
With your plaid button downs
Always with the first button undone
And your white T-Shirt underneath always brightend the hazel in your eyes

Memories of Germany danced on your lips
How I wanted to taste them...
The longing still holds on the end of my tongue

Car rides were always needed
But I never minded sharing them with you
Conversations of endless nothings and you didn't know I was falling hoplessly in love with you.

You may not have had the blue eyes I dreamed of as a little girl
But they looked to me like how I looked at shooting stars
The dead of night always ran through your hair as my mind ran circles around itself chasing those cosmic wonders

And there may not be a sequence to this poem
But thats how you made me feel
Out of order
Maybe a little out of place
But when I looked to you, you knew of all the wishes I spent on those shooting stars

the corner shop near the railway station
opens now unlike when we came here first
when everything would shut on Sunday

the flea market in Mauerpark
is over-ridden with people selling kitsch
but we always go and we love it

everyone is so cool here that I think being cool
isn't hip anymore,
the street is a sea of hipsters in black

it's early Spring and there is still
no ferries on the Spree
but if you walk down the right street

you'll catch a couple of musicians
maybe a juggling act  
that blend in with graffiti and art

in the evening we'll go to the TV Tower
like tourists
pretend we can afford dinner in the revolving restaurant

two hundred and three metres high
and look over the cars on the road to Berlin-Mitte
that look like graceful glowing bugs below

we'll get have a cocktail with dinner in Caramba
in the square (just one)
and listen to light German jazz

with no need to worry
if the transport still runs at night

You can find me skipping through the streets of Paris. I'll be the girl with the long brown hair in a black summer dress. I'll have sunglasses on and as I make my way around this foreign town I'll wonder why I ever need to go home.

You can find me arm wrestling in Germany. I'll be the girl in the shorts and the lips t shirt surrounded by angry, sweaty German men who just want to take a chance on beating me. And as I laugh my way through the match I'll wonder why I ever need to go home.

You can find me in Italy drinking wine and dancing under the moon along the cobblestone alleyways.  I'll be hand in hand with some beautiful Italian man as we kiss just because we are young and free. And as I kiss my way across the canals I'll wonder why I ever need to come home.

And if by chance I make it home to America, where the lights aren't nearly as bright and the memories aren't nearly as fun. You'll find me in a boring office working as I dream of my foreign adventures again.

Of that cold spring day when our hands froze
Clutching cones of your favorite strawberry ice cream

Of the following warm summer day when my favorite
Chocolate ice cream coated our tongues

Of that day we escaped our classes
And found ourselves held captive
By the soft cherry ice
With nuts on top

Of bubblegum sonnets, of almond praline declarations of love
Of fig and honey serenades
With soft coffee angels singing in the back
And cookie cream cherubs whispering in our ears.

Of the best first taste.

Of the worst last lick.

You died for what you thought was right
in a non violent way
you died without a fight
on the day
you tried to right
the political way
you had to write
a paper to say
the message right
but you were caught
and were executed on one February night
and you never saw the day
when they were wrong and you were right