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sean-whitney
Five hundred towers crumble. thrones parachuted on spinal cords, falling flat into city streets occupied by scavengers. Ten factories close doors, tracing lines on cement of pay stubs half burnt: draft cards for this new war. One million fathers cried, unable to love their sons without enforcing the same brutal tactics used against them at work.
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Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
Untitled
Your best odds rest on rest. Speed kills, horizontal in its nature, it fights growing upward. Clouds travel continents, living conversations between breath and potential, lazing in sunshine, dancing into new shapes on impulses they don't try to control. Not molded, but explosive, they disappear, when it's convenient for them.
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Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 2:49 PM UTC
**** oxygen and let go
The blaze in eyes while stories trade sings deep rhythms in sand vibrating into dunes. Build, building like pyramids the cries of slaves pushing boulders tap toes in hesitant syncopation. A voice mumbles freedom, while the Battle Hymn hums across the backs of necks. Kisses hiss like water pops as sparks ascend into stars. Blue Ribbons are ambivalent to the sober back of the mind as words take a decidedly winning turn towards life. Alive like fireworks, words hiss in water pops as logs and laws disband themselves into our firepit.
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Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 2:46 PM UTC
This song is sung over campfires