American Refugee

We’ve been down this road before 
Cruising through the stardust dunes, 
Rolling along silver shores.
Riding in your lime green Jeep,
A one-hit wonder on the radio
Sings of promises still left to keep.

No place to call my home,
I’ve been where you’ve been,
No country to call my own.
Two hours and a dream from Boston,
There are lives not soon forgotten,
Left behind in strawberry fields and sunflower coffins. 

We’re American refugees,
Running for the northern border.
Nothing left but faded dreams,
We’re children of the night.
Nothing left to lose,
Nothing left to fight.

Diamonds cast sparkles in our eyes
While coasting the mid-Cape Highway,
As bodies shimmer in the crimson tide.
When are they going to realize,
There’s no escaping the August Moon,
When you’re still trying to find places to hide?

America has gone astray
As we leave Suicide Alley,
Bound to survive another day.
The patriots got swept away
As we fled the Edge of the Earth,
From the surge of another wave.

We’re American refugees,
Running for the northern border.
Nothing left but faded dreams,
We’re children of the night.
Nothing left to lose,
Nothing left to fight.

We’re fleeing the eye of this hurricane, 
Too many lost lives to count,
Too much heartache and disdain.
No faith in science, no faith in humanity, 
Political puppets disguised as Christians 
Fight for religious freedom and anarchy. 

They don’t believe in anything they can’t see,
Living in a society of popcorn therapy.
They pop black pills for finding their muses
To spread more death through Russian ruses.
Now we’re in world of Patient Zeros,
Where there’s no more room for saviors or unsung heroes.

We’re American refugees,
Running for the northern border,
Like butterflies clinging in a breeze
With broken wings and faded dreams.
The devil’s knocking at the door;
It’s got us crawling on our hands and knees.

We’re American refugees,
Running for the northern border.
Nothing left but faded dreams,
We’re children of the night.
Nothing left to lose,
Nothing left to fight.

Boys of Summer

Perched in gold sand dunes yonder 
Like plump pillows they ponder,
Life in saltwater reflections
Casting clouds in puddle vections.

O’ little piping plover,
It’s time we both crossover 
To the sandbar’s sunnier side,
At the center of crossing tides.

This convergence of waves brings
A song to my heart; it sings
Melodies of wild summers past
When vanity fairs faded fast.

Swept away like wisps of sand
Friendships drift from palm of hand
Biting blue hearts like greenhead flies,
Buzzing bloodlust in August skies.

O’ Moon, I can never find 
Boys of summer left behind, 
Lingering like soothing breezes
Tingling my mind with soft teases.

Boys of summer never last 
Like sparkles in an hourglass,
Swirling sand through my burning veins 
Diamond pools never seen again.

Beaus of summer become ghosts
Roaming along lovelorn coasts;
Moans echo through winding marshland
Pining for the boys in the band.

Forsaken in solitude
O’ plover, summers are cruel
When lovers steal our sunburst dreams,
Sealing them in jars with moonbeams.

Whiffs of Hawaiian Tropic 
Drift in the windy frolic
Where plovers peep-lo solemn tunes,
Mourning the Lost Boys of the Dunes.

I must leave now, dearest plover,
Headed for crimson and clover;
In this world of willful blindness,
Remember me for my kindness.

Yuanfen

Anarchistic atheist, you don’t believe
in anything,
Yet you still suck the poison juice
from your Agent Orange tree.

Devotion stains your fickle fingers green
with wax wedding rings,
From gum ball machines pulsating
with a purple putty sheen.

Waves of canned laughter surfing the red rustling seas
never cling,
To wild blueberry barrens
that whisper in the autumn breeze.

Hot pink jingling ice cream trucks begin to flee
from school crossings,
As guards guide children into cages
where they long to be free.

Yellow school buses like great white sharks seethe and swarm while circling
This hurricane rage swirling
and surging inside my daydreams.

Summer solstice has turned her back on me,
sans solace, leaving
Cracked crystal spiders on windshields
from frenzied fists of fury.

Lost like stray dogs on Praia da Luz Beach,
we’re cross waves rippling
That forever roam with ghosts
of missing girls along the sea.

I never bought train tickets for this tragedy
on hope’s wings –
A passenger in this parade
I never wanted to be.

Poised to jump into a blackhole fantasy
we’re barreling
Toward a land where smoke and mirrors
are what your false prophets see.

Chasing rainbows, your pheromones lure me
back to us, I sing –
O’ Yuanfen! My faith in you
will become the death of me!

Violet

Delicate velvet, handsome Violet,
Say sweetness, why have you been so quiet?
We know Death has visited us before,
Rat-a-tat-tatting at your bedroom door.

Sitting on the windowsill you quiver,
While mum’s broken body shakes and shivers;
Outside the window, crickets turn silent
In the presence of a garden giant.

The Gaslighting Queen grows more defiant,
Since his blossoms no longer bloom vibrant.
Tis’ the season of the Briar Rabbit,
So, Queenie’s back to his nasty habits.

Shuffling for blue light in cold pools of ice,
Clutching cans like weathered hands in a vise;
He has lost his kingdom and royal crown,
Now that flower mother is back in town.

Spreading dandelions throughout the land,
The morning glories sing at her command.
At the window, Violet withers away,
As the Sun on mum’s face begins to fade.

Death showed up today from the Sunshine State;
In the garden, we shared one last embrace
With our Violet who kissed us farewell
Before leaving his body and Earth’s Hell.

Queenie saw his reflection float away
As the daffodil boys began to sway,
Crooning a song of redemption or fate –
Which path will my Sugarbear take?

Death dropped us a short postcard yesterday –
It read, Greetings from the Pine Tree State! Hey!
I saw fields of wild violets today;
They reminded me to tell you – save the date!
See Sugarbear soon at the Golden Gate!

Catalyst

I’m broken-down from keeping
This dirty little secret,
The shame of the family –
Dangling in the summer wind,
Hanging from this wishing tree.

You sit elsewhere in my dreams
Swigging lies with no regret,
Cracking another brewski –
Too hard-nosed to say thank you,
Too pig-headed to say please.

From a wingback chair you leave
Your frazzled mind to forget
Those fiends pecking your mem’ry –
Feeding off tribal bad blood,
Flickering down like bird seed.

Lone in our sanctuary
This catalyst has upset
The brumation inside me –
Alas you remain dormant,
Breathing faint reality.

The only folk you believe
Are mystics you haven’t met,
Idling somewhere in-between
Hidden myths and loud gospel,
Blowing blue smoke while you wheeze.

You drift off into the breeze
Since gravity has reset,
High above the nth degree –
Around the Strawberry Moon,
Spinning from a fire trapeze.

From orbit I hope you see
The world from your lunar jet,
And the forest through the trees –
So you can come back soon,
And be who you want to be.

Within this private study,
Alone, I sing our duet;
A hidden passageway leads –
To shores of a golden beach,
And crystal caves long the sea.

In a grotto there’s a key
That unlocks a worn coffret;
Inside, there’s a scroll that reads –
Love, I won’t give up on you
If you don’t give up on me.

Doodler

Creating red pencil portraits
He sketches my queer crimson face,
Before bringing me to the depths
Of the glorious Golden Gate.

There, he peacefully cracks and peels
My sandpaper skin like eggshells –
Leaving vein and vessel to bleed
On swollen, sun-drenched shores that quell

The dark madness embossed inside
His pale paintings of gold pockets –
Hiding wedding bands, pink lipstick
And daughters latched in lost lockets.

Washed away in fast, frenzied waves
Identities never reclaimed –
Always to remain John Q. Does
In these silk silhouettes of shame.

Forever captured on canvas,
Diddly Doodler, where have you gone?
To the hills of Humboldt County
Where more missing faces are drawn?

In the Emerald Triangle,
He hides while farmers grow green gold –
Behind the vast redwood curtain
Where dewy dreams are bought and sold.

They say murder is contagious
When hanging with the Grim Sleeper –
Burning stolen cars on cliff tops
Playing the Trim Reaper’s keeper.

In a remote mountain cabin,
He sketches another stone face –
Before bringing him to the depths
Of the Emerald Forest Gate.

Madonnas

Mirages of missing Canadian nuns
Floating face-down in habits hissing
Swirl in the swift black currents
And reflections of Red River.

Follow the ridge and look straight ahead
When crossing the covered bridge;
You could drown gazing too long
At swimming shadows in the shimmer.

A mile more, Maria Monk waits
To take you through the doors
Of this forsaken convent tangled
In thickets that creek and quiver.

X marks the spot on the map
Where babies cry in the dark,
Buried behind high holy walls
And hallways that wail and whimper.

The bitter ghost of Sister Filomena
Roams this secret tunnel littered
With shredded sheets and crusty seed
From priests spatting vile slivers.

Beneath old stone slabs covered
By pious plaster Madonnas, cold bones
Burst open from lime pits exposed –
A hundred skeletons shake and shiver.

With sacred water, blessed be
The fallen women, sons and daughters
Discarded like bloody splinters,
Persecuted for being mortal sinners.