Sleeping dogs are kicked
just to hear them bark
we stare at the sun
and stay in the dark

the dead men tell tales
and we make our horses drink
a rolling stone gathers moss
and **** doesn't stink

we are better sorry than safe
the sword is mightier than the pen
practice never makes perfect
it's all just pretend

two wrongs make a right
never is better than late
we don't see our own sight
we are what we hate

we look gift horses in the mouth
while birds of a feather peck each others eyes out

a nagging blanket of
blame
tucks me into bed every
single night

dreading walking into
doors i've known for years
because life was better
back then

it's hard to pinpoint
the exact moment
when home became a house

but i think it's the day
i lost the ability
to know who i was
on my own

and that was a long time ago

deep and wide
this river i must float
(though fording i'd prefer)

swirling eddies
mark its dangerous
course

and how long to reach
the distant bank?

traversing these sharp rocks
and slippery stones,
i must tread carefully.

and having arrived,
will i find
my wagon train's
moved on
and their trail grown cold?

--bruised orange

Oh muse, you are an unfaithful lover!
I gave my heart to you.
You've taken, it and skipped town.

Pour it out,
that dis-ease of your remorse.

Lay your broken bones gently
into this cut crystal glass.

See how the light refracts?