Sticks and stones make homes,
Which hold a far greater threat
Than broken bones.

Silent prayer heard,
The cosmic wheel catches gear
And away we go.

Twisted tongue spits,
Cooking God only knows what
Over hellfire.

Waiting for passion,
Mountains crumble, oceans wax
With or without you.

I poison myself to see what waits for me
In the darkness of my mind. My body
Holds these chemicals tentatively,
Like an atom exchanging electrons
To see what else they could be.
Destroying is only the gates swinging wide
For creation. Creation is the tide
Lapsing into destruction. Elation
Follows when you begin erasing
The sickly world for which you've acquired taste.
I poison myself and let fall from the bones
Rotting flesh, slopping off in full ideas
Of gluttonous consent. My peers
Before me do the same, and will after
I'm gone to the here after, after here.
This figment of a collective imagination,
These walls towering over our conscious spaces;
I set the fire on my side of the fence:
I want to see where the birds went.

There is death for many in the past,

But not I;
I learned to turn upward the eye.


There is death for many in the grass,

But not I;
I climb the blade, and see far and wide.


There is death for many in the leaves,

But not I;
I breathe in their life to stay alive


There is death for many in the trees,

But not I;
I climb their length, and perceive from on high.


There is death for many in the water,

But not I;
I stay afloat and never capsize.


There is death for many where it's hotter,

But not I;
I bleed the waters from deep within my mind.


There is death for many in the teams,

But not I;
I grew silence, and I grew wise.


There is death for many in their dreams,

But not I;
My creations, all burn bright.


In the night,
In the dark wind,
Most send their intentions to the grave;
Slaves tied to the unspent sensations
Of being alive.