To how words can cut!
To how they heal!
To the wild things they make us feel!
To a short and simple phrase
That could be remedy or blade.
To impact and to common sense!
To not quite saying what we meant.
To all the beauty that we write.
We tip our hats and say our last goodnight.

The sign said, “welcome”, so I opened up and I went in,
Thought I could move within and along.
But the faces were strange
And it seemed oh so plain,
Here was a place
Where I don’t belong.

There was a table before me where I thought I could sit
To devour the radish and bask in the song.
But gold brick shattered the plate
And the minstrels were late.
It turned out to be another place
Where I don’t belong.

And the next door led to another room
The lock was not so strong.
I wanted to fit,
Even expected it,
But it was another place
Where I don’t belong.

Down the street another stop to observe,
And I’ll wait among the throngs.
Perhaps here’s where I’ll see
Some people like me.
But it was another place
Where I don’t belong.

Alone on a walk, no need to talk.
Somehow isolation doesn’t seem wrong.
And it could be good,
This silent solitude.
Maybe
Here is the place I belong.

Shut down.
Rejected.
Left out to dry.

Options,
Elective,
Might soon pass you by.

Don’t get
Dejected.
I’ll tell you why.

You’re not
Infected.
You’re still getting by

You just need
Perspective,
Not sugary lies.

So just be
Reflective,
See your limit’s the sky.

Then not to the
Collective,
But to the moonlight,

You’ll be
Connected.
And find peace in the night.

Tribute
Erected.
It’ll all be alright.

This strange soul calls to mine,
Alluring, fascinating, vexing.
This strange pull, as a rapid wind,
Somehow pushing, still pulling, and taxing.

Strange spirit speaks a foreign tongue.
I speak with no tongue at all.
I would give my soul, my heart, a lung
To stop its decay. Here leaves in fall.

Strange spirit presses soft, then firm.
My spirit falters often.
Strange spirit ever lives and learns,
Cradle, sky, to coffin.

I swim endless in despair
So that I do not drown in it.
I breathe only to breathe.

I am suspended in sunlight with no warmth.
I am surrounded by notes that make no melody.
I fumble, falter, fail.

Heavy as a raindrop whose cold
Penetrates deeply into loneliness
Is the air, the light, the lingering.

I forget too much.
I remember too much.
I am too much, and not enough.

A shallow pool is that in which we swim
A void wants only to be filled.
Misery takes us all.

Over many matters I may be shy,
But I have never been known to be timid.
And there is no sky which I would not fly,
That is, if my options were truly unlimited.

That’s not to say that I couldn’t be scared,
Or that I never had.
It’s only to say,
That I’m usually prepared
For the good and for the bad.

I’ve been stricken by fear that was more like despair.
I’ve felt the knots of uncertainty twist.
But of any dangers, I’ve done my best to be aware,
So any terror I can totally resist.

So it is that I can face uncertainty
With sure-footed, fear-free glee.
For whatever risk lurks
That might leave me unsure,
I have never been scared to be me.

I am wilted. I am weary.
I am weathered. I am worn.
I am stuffed with seeping sadness, and stewed in sticky, seething scorn.

I am deflated. Thoughts debunked.
And I am drowned in desperate dread.  
When I soak my roots in water, I find it dries them out instead.

I am wilted. I am weary.
I am wilted. I am worn.

A massive abundance on a gentle breeze.
Oh, how the clouds seem to move with ease.
Smooth and certain across the sky.
A visual feast for a hungry eye.

Thick grey centres, with edges soft and unkempt.
Oh, to be in that world of which I’ve only dreamt.
To feel the cool wetness I imagine I’d feel
If I could break gravity, and be in the clouds for real.

Bold faced fire.
A spark. Some grit.
When challenge comes,
Welcome it!

An occasion to rise to.
Peg forced to fit.
When challenge comes,
Tackle it!

A hill to climb.
Fire to be lit.
When challenge comes,
Conquer it!

When it seems too high in effort or risk,
And the burden it brings is like a ton of bricks,
It’s only your attitude that you need to fix!
When challenge comes, be bold! Be brisk!

And when doubt comes,
Challenge it!

I am weak, petty, small.
I am the torturer of all.
My tendrils close around your neck.
I kick your feet out,
And you fall.

I strike you through as you descend.
I twist your mind.
Your spirit bends.
Actions inflict pain.
Words lack respect.
I pull back to strike you through again.

I exhaust your mind, tear your soul, leaving not a nerve to rend.
Absently abusive, and stretched.
Twisted in violence, bent.

I create pain implicitly, just as I expect.
And I inflict the torture that I never, ever meant.

Let Me inflict the torture that I never, ever meant.

Try to think of things
You might not have thought
Deserved consideration.

Maintain your poise.
Tune out the noise.
Tune into your own station.

Challenge what you think and feel.
Try your best to live up to your own ideals.

Do not
Become the rot
In your own foundation.

Quench your rage with cooking oil,
With powder, or with ***.
Whatever way you quench your rage,
Our world will soon be done.

Calm your nerves with nicotine.
Use narcissism, or use noise.
It will not matter what you’ve used,
When all the world’s destroyed.

Let the rain fall down.
Let the sky turn black.
Let the world know
I’ll
Not be
Coming back.

Let the rain fall down.
Let the world turn to ash.
Let the sky split open. I’m
Never
Coming
Back.

Let the rain fall down.
Let the sky turn black.
Let the world know
That I’ll
Not be
Coming back.

Let the rain fall down.
Let the world turn to ash.
Let the sky rip open. I’m
Never
Coming
Back.

Let the rain
Fall
Forever

Let the sky
Tear
In two.

Let the earths crust crumble, I
Won’t come back to you…

The approach is fast,
The trickle slow.
Softly seeping down below.

A violent end.
A peace not past.
You, bending steel. Me, breaking glass.

What was dampened
Once, abruptly clears.
May fortune favour golden years.

A block of ice
Cannot endure.
At last, find footing firm and sure.

Now brilliant, shines
An endless sky.
Inspires distinction of truth from lie.

Elated! Joyful! Then dropped
A darkly veiled mask.
Ground is near, approaching fast.

Voices saying nothing.
Never stopping.
Maybe we’ll crash.
Maybe I’ll fly.

Music from nowhere
“I feel bad for her fiancée or whatever he is”
I know your face.
I’ve seen your insides.
Maybe I’ll fly.

Empty eyes.
Empty smile.
“Like no offence to her but she’s too shy”
Maybe we’ll crash.
Maybe I’ll fly.

Pounds to tons.
Routine to chaos.
Maybe we’ll die,
But maybe I’ll fly.

Parcelled and promised.
But not yours, nor mine.
Drags on. Flies past.
Never really unwinds.

A cure-all or illusion.
Could make fools of us all.
A force to which everything
Eventually falls.

An irreplaceable treasure,
That can’t be held in the hand.
Just one way that we measure
Our lives on this land.

A being so yielding,
Yet so easy to break.
Soul’s component so rare
It must be a mistake.

Here on the outside,
The inside seems gangrene.
And there’s no one
I’ve known
That knows
What I mean.

We set the example,
And accept the results.
At least until we can make it
Our enemies’ faults.

What’s bad for the goose
Is surely bad for the gander.
And Mother Earth cannot take
All the trash that we hand her.

Mother Nature, nervously,
Clears a dry throat.
Though many torments seem trivial
When held up to the boats.

There is no purple in my berry.
The winter’s cold. It is not merry.
There is no song left still to sing.
The summer’s gone. There is no spring.

There is no colour in the sky.
There is no answer to the “why”.
A songbird sings. There are no notes.
The words we say don’t leave our throats.

And when we yearn, there’s no relief.
There may be faith. There’s no belief.
There is anger stirred up without cause,
For there is not what once there was.

(The Stalking Song)

I’m doomed to be
Doomed to be your shadow.
Wherever you go
I’m doomed to follow.

I’m doomed to live
In your limelight.
I’m doomed to stay ten yards behind
And out of sight.

I’m doomed to peek
In your windows.
Wherever you go
I’m doomed to go.

I’m doomed to watch.
And I’m doomed to wait.
I’m doomed to wonder,
Plan, and contemplate.

And for reasons you never,
Ever could understand
You’re doomed to die
By my hand…

The rain pounds through everything.
The earth fills up.
Who would complain, refrain!
Reevaluate your luck.

Flesh melts and burns, it isn’t real,
But a future not so far off.
I see coiled springs, and reactive things,
And sick speculations rule my thoughts.

Gods help us all.

A devil drawls. A siren shrieks.
The masses spit and shout.
A dried up tear for who cannot speak.
No light can lead us out.

The story will not change,
And the ruler won’t relent.
Mere reluctance makes revolution not,
And all my thoughts are spent.

Gods help us all.

First she told me to wait,
Then she said it’s a game.
And as I heard the voices
Call out for souls, well,
Every call was my name.

So I stepped through the fog
Into that murky mire.
And the next thing I know
From my head to toe
I was covered in fire.

But she told me to wait.
And she said it’s a game,
And if you give it ten minutes more, man,
You’re gonna feel the same.

First I felt a cold chill.
I beheld a serpent’s stare.
I was losing my will,
Frightened but still
I trusted the wind like a leaf in the air

So I stood like a stone,
And I felt all alone.
And the moment that I
Felt the shadow inside
I knew I would never see home.

Cause she told me to wait.
And she said it’s a game,
And if you give it five minutes more, man,
You’re gonna feel the same.

She said she had what I need,
And knew my depths of desire.
I felt the pit of me stir
When I knew I’d prefer
To blindly believe that she wasn’t a liar.

She picked my pieces apart,
Then she poisoned my heart.
And that’s when I knew
That nothing was true
I cried out inside and I begged for the start.

I was a puddle and pile
That’s when she turned to smile.
With the sweet on her maw
She saw what I saw.
I thought she wouldn’t be back for a while.

But she told me to wait.
And she said life’s a game.
And if you give it one minute more, man,
You can get up
And follow
The tracks of my train.

You know, she told me to wait.
Then she said it’s a game.
And if you give it ten seconds more, man,
You’re gonna feel
You’re gonna feel
You’re gonna feel…
The same.

We stipulate what’s “right”,
Or else legislate what’s “wrong”.
And we have morays and conventions meant to help us get along.

We take security for granted.
Want to make the whole thing fodder.
With feet too firmly planted
We toss the baby with the water.

I walk a level wire, and I take each step with care.
To the right a sea of rage, and left an ocean of despair.
If I fail to keep my balance I may never step again.
If I stumble, if I falter, then the fall may never end.

I keep a level head by pretending nothing’s there.
I focus on the moment, never guessing how I’ll fare.
If I’m fractured, torn and broken I may have no strength to mend.
So I walk the wire slowly. When I can’t smile I’ll pretend.

Though each step sinks deeply into flesh I cannot stop advancing.
Though some resolve may harden fast, every single time it’s glancing.
And when I watch the distance it seems the journey has no end.
So I walk the wire carefully. I hold my breath, then step again.

I am the freak of nature
That nurture has shaped oblong.
I am the sum of high ideals
That turned out to all be wrong.

The sole of a shoe never worn,
But cast onto the midden heap.
Covered in filth it never trod upon
Receiving yields it did not reap.

And I have learned to be patient with death,
With its anticipation,
And with its effects.

Tais-toi, petite souris!
Le chat veut prendre ton vie.
Il a bu tous le lait,
Et il va rester,
Et attendra ton mari.


English alternative (non-literal):

Be quiet, little mouse!
A cat has entered the house.
He drank the bowl dry,
And will sleep nearby,
While he waits to chase your spouse.

Into the wild woods I’ll wander
To find the whimsy I seek.
I’ll jump right out at you!
Unless around you, I sneak.

Through the brambles and tangles
I’ll make my advances,
And try to decipher
Some flat, subtle glances.

When the smell of the season
Seeks to haunt my poor head,
And I know of no reason
To part from my bed.

When the images are stitched,
But somehow grow as a seed,
I’ll embrace the journey,
And get lost in the ****.

The reflections we saw,
Were they yours, ours, or mine?
Were I to unlock your eyes
Would they open up mine?

If I stayed awake forever
Could I feast on the moon?
Were I to aide your endeavour
Would you think it a boon?

When the truth lies beneath sludge
Under a murky, dark pond,
I’ll temper my grudge.
And try to move right along.

When life lights up too little
There’s a treatment I need,
With the ice and the water,
I’ll get lost in the ****.

A prickly and inflamed small creature slinks out of the sludge to see the world.
A broken body and broken mind spread out at rest, dark tendrils unfurled.

The shimmering lifts and causes light to leak into the soul.
A music box sounds off- filling space and time, achieving its goal.

Surrounded, still and silent.
At once tested, rested, then gone.
Impulses dark and violent.
Later scattered, tattered and drawn.

Brought to tears by nothing when everything is wrong.
Creaky, creaky, creature creeps.
I see it,
Then it’s gone.

I’ll ask the gods to take my ears,
When they’re drowned in mournful cries.
And when they’ve seen too much suffering,
And too much pain, I’ll ask that they take my eyes.

Then to the gods, I’ll give my voice,
For it squeaks impotent here on earth.
Next cruel gods, I give my soul,
Though it’s found badly damaged,
And of little worth.

So I call to the gods, and I call out to Man.
For virtue! For justice! For calm.
To the wind I attend, and with the wind I wait,
But I’ve found that the gods have all long gone…

I see the shape of things
As they shift
And slowly change.

I feel the weight it brings
As they chisel
And carve their names.

As the clouds move through their lives
They stretch, and pull apart.
No cloud will ever be the way
It was back at its start.

Maybe we are as those clouds,
Reshaping as we go.
No need to be ashamed nor proud.
Simply travel where winds blow.

Maybe we could learn from them,
Who exist but do not fight.
Face reality with grace, and then
Do the same in the windy night.

I fear ego.
Do I fear it too much to see it?

I fear conceit.
Do I abuse myself too much in effort to avoid it?

What is it that I crave?
What eye do I desire?

What rhythm moves me so?
And does the feeling hold me, thrill me?

Though the night is dark and cold,
It’s not the wind that chills me.

Would I choose my judge?
Would he be too kind?

I justify the search for satisfaction.
I fret; I do not satisfy.

Is it right to judge the world?
Is it our responsibility?

As my skin grows dry, and bones grow old,
It’s not the wind that chills me.

It’s not alright to be yourself.
You have only what no one wants.

I won’t get very far.
I’ll move neither swiftly, nor surely.

Be annoying quietly.
You can’t know what that tells me.

I looked back. How far did I see?
It was not the wind that chilled me.

Should I fear the chaos I love to feed?
What denial is enough to stave off greed?

I recoil in terror equally
From ego or mediocrity.

He likes the sound of other women.
I’m electric with insecurity.

As I take the thought and let it in,
It’s not the wind that chills me.

Those who know, oh so often don’t know what to say.
They might call you a hero, or tell you that you’re brave,
And that all love is unconditional.

We all have our values, see virtues, and work through vices.
We cement our beliefs through interactions on devices.
And start to think that some love is unconditional.

We’re remolded, reshaped, be it through purpose or providence.
We become robust, resolute. At times straightened, at others bent,
Believing what we do is traditional.

Respect for one’s self is essential to grow.
We must challenge the things we believe that we know.
And no love is ever unconditional.

And if we love ourselves than none ought to be.

Measure your worth by your wealth.
Measure success in deaths.
He who is great
Will be he who subjugates
The poor, the pitiable, the powerless.

Carve your name in their flesh.
Carry your flag on your breast.
With each passing day
Force more others to say
That your way alone is the best.

Measure the truth by its traction.
Measure the weight on tipped scales.
Those who disagree
Will be those who will see
That in opposition, they fail.  

Measure your life by your lies.
Contrast and compare them throughout.
But whatever you do,
When your life is through,
Remember this was your only way out.

A painted window, the light shines through,
Connecting all the comfort anyone can gain from you.
A broken promise, a heavy veil.
I see no way to get us through this when everything’s for sale.

Don’t sell me solace.
Don’t sell me sympathy.
Don’t show me all the things you think that I might wanna see.
Don’t sell me fire.
Don’t sell me gold.
Don’t preach to me your sick morality.
I think it’s gaunt and old.
Don’t sell me solace.

They sell their silence. They’d sell their soul.
They sell out all of our salvation just to seek some selfish goal.
They won’t heed history. Can’t sacrifice.
Evaluate the mystery, and your blood might turn to ice.

Don’t sell me solace.
Don’t sell me sympathy.
Don’t tell me I’m the things you think that I might wanna be.
Don’t sell me fire.
Don’t sell me gold.
Don’t share with me your sick sensations
With eyes so dead and cold.
Don’t sell me solace.

With sunlight sparse, and the world dark
You shine golden and gorgeous. My spirit ascends.
The glittering glow of your brilliance touches me gently, and the long darkness ends.

When bitterness overwhelms me
I lose hope, reference, reverence, and appetite.
You are the sweetness in my mouth that dances on the tongue and makes it all right.

While there is no nourishment for body or soul,
You are the honey that fills my hive.
You see me through the long cold winter.
You sustain my vitality.
You keep me alive.

Oh say, can you see?
As they carve up your rights
Ideals once proudly held,
Now lay gasping and bleeding.
Future pride and bright hopes
Face a perilous might;
Those who rampage through life,
Destroying and feeding.
Through the raucous and flare
Declaring justice “unfair”,
Lacking proof that they’re right,
But they don’t seem to care.
Oh say, do you still think yourselves free and brave?
Or is it the land of the fee
And the home of the depraved?

Into fog, and in a fugue,
We flee from the fire,
Or watch from a distance
As the flames grow higher.
Our sight is short.
Our wants are many.
But if we don’t compromise,
We won’t have any.

When we feel what it is
To truly need
Perhaps we’ll find the strength
To stave off greed.
Our priorities are muddled.
Our fears feed our fight.
We become befuddled,
And forget what’s right.

We’re damaged, victimized,
And we can’t look away.
We welcome comforting lies,
And what famous faces say.
And we can’t understand
Why they don’t see what we see,
As the others hold hands
And dance
On the grave of democracy.

Absolve me of my temperament.
Absolve me of my tears.
Dissolve my personality,
My vast, expanding fears.

Absolve misguided sentiments.
Forgive each frustrated flow.
Leave me unnoticed and unfettered.
Unchained. At peace. Alone.

Resolve my intuition,
And forgive hypocrisy.
Absolve me of my unseen sins,
And free me of belief.

Absolve my broken promises.
Absolve my broken mind.
Forgive me for my cruelties,
And for all imagined crimes.

Absolve me of my selfish wounds.
Ignore those that are not.
Absolve me of my slumber,
And of all that I’ve forgot.

Absolve me of vexation.
Forgive me, part of whole.
Absolve me of the darkness
That now lurks within my soul.

You may want to be the same
In thought and function,
Form and name,
But let me be diverse.

You may choose a path and hold it true,
And that may be what’s best for you,
But let me choose my course.

And when you feel the urge to fight,
Or prove your point
To prove you’re right
Pause to gaze upon the starry night,
And feel your true place in the universe.

I discover myself, tiny, bean-shaped on the tiled floor.
Raised to my knees the edge of the counter feels deadly.

Thank the gods, not this.

The mirror stares back at my shame with only wet redness.

I look at the offending object.
Well, that could have been worse.

I look to the ground.
Well, that could have been worse.

The effort required to hold back against the floor worries me.

I kept it cool. There is no mark.

I discover all of us.

We are as leaves floating in a puddle.
We rot.
We may become adhered to a shoe,
Or squished into the ground,
But we know we are rotting.

No tear will fall to earth where we lay our final grave.
No history will tell the tale of a people just and brave.
And we will not resolve compassion with our casual consumption.
And we will have no time to reflect upon our anger and presumptions.

For when the end is in our sight we’ll do naught but close our eyes.
And when we hear of what they’ve done we’ll act as though surprised.
As they hold us to the barrel they will point and say, “look there”.
Before tired eyes and with weary minds are treats and tortures everywhere.

We concern ourselves with “p”s and “q”s. We worry loudly over words.
When true evil comes we’ll name it not. If we can’t speak it, it can’t be heard.
Shout destitution! Shout oppression! Shout ******! Shout ****!
Carpet others over. If none breathe, none will escape.

Our conscience we will cover in catchy slogans and perfumes.
We’ll be sheltered by our comforts, hiding in well-decorated rooms.
Making light of it casts light on things we seem to at once see and yet not see.
But each and every time the light is cast anew we cry, “this cannot be!”

We’ll spend ourselves on triviality. We’ll spend ourselves on skin.
We will not see the deadly spider thanks to the tangled web it spins.
Humanity’s death comes quickly, at the behest of it’s own bloodthirsty applause.
Through distraction we will ***** us out, without justice, and without cause.

It’s hazy. It’s yellow.
It spins and confuses.
It finds all the elements
Intellect uses.

It’s a smell.
It’s a memory.
It’s a comforting chill.
It’s a clever confusion
To wrap up our will.

It’s stagnant,
Yet vibrant.
It’s scathing,
Yet kind.
It’s the resources I’ve spent
To leave pain behind.

I know well enough,
How to play the game,
That I can blend in with the crowd.

I know what things
Should bring me shame
And which ought to make me proud.

I would be alert
-If not all the time,
For in the fog there’s much to miss.

And it’s only when
His eyes meet mine
That I fear the reaper’s kiss.

I can wear the face
I’m expected to,
And you’d never know it didn’t fit.

When I take it off,
As I’m apt to do,
I never quite know what to do with it.

It’s a social game,
As it’s always been.
It’s not the kind that you win or lose.

But the kind you play,
As light-hearted children,
Before you perceive any mountains to move.

I hear the talk,
“World’s getting meaner”.
And over decades, said over again.

But the grass has never
Really been any greener,
I think the shade was just different back then.

I watch them fly
With grace, so free.
Unburdened by
Prosperity.

No time for entertainment.
Hearts not weighed and balanced against gold bars.
No defendants, and no claimants.
Living in each moment only where they are.

Light enough to lift off.
Strong enough to stand.
Each day is faced,
With strength and grace.
No expectation. Nothing planned.

I watch them perch
With purpose, unknown.
Each one a force
Itself, alone.

No need for supervision.
Making no objects, hoarding no wealth.
Living off of flight and vision.
Living for the flock, and for the self.

Only motivation, sunrise.
Only purpose is to live.
Perhaps thoughtless,
Perhaps unknowing,
Still, it’s wisdom that they give.

Let the vultures pick our bones.
Let them grow too fat to fly away.
Let a quiet calm fill the air.
Let fade those things our distain might say.

Let me drown my sorrows so that I do not drown in them.

Leave each transmission unreceived.
Leave the roots to reclaim the soil.
Leave opinion and presumption
Where they have no soul to spoil.

Leave me to drown my sorrows so that I do not drown in them.

Allow some understanding for
Those you do not understand.
Show compassion to your enemies,
And make requests of your demands.

Allow me to drown my sorrows so that I do not drown in them.

I am a well, almost dry, from which no lasting life has sprung.
I am an object of no desire.
I am a short and miscalculated sum.

I give no comfort; joyless, for I am an empty ***.
The numbness never passes.
I am a fire that burns, but never gets hot.

And I will take the blame,
For it’s all that I see offered me.

No matter your perspective, or the strength of your connections,
In the dark,
In the silence,
We are all of us alone.

If you’re part of a collective, if you share strong predilections,
Whether hopeful,
Whether hateful,
We’re, in all our truth, alone.

And I will take the blame,
For it’s all that I see offered me.

I no longer bend.
I only break.
I see no further
Steps to take.
And every thought
Seems a mistake.

And I will take the blame,
For it’s all that I see offered me.

I never got to know me,
And now there’s little of me left.
But I cannot cry injustice,
Or brutality, or theft.

It was merely that I hid behind
Whatever I could find.
And how could I think to reach myself
When I’ve never really known my mind.

I know he loves me, though I know not why.
And the voice inside is cruel and cold.
I scrape it out. It builds again.
I create new wounds out of those that are old.

And I will take the blame,
For it’s all that I see offered me.

My words are wrong.
My thoughts are wrong.
My perspective is a mess of sand.

I can’t **** the parts selectively,
But I can **** it all,
Or else make it bland.

And I will take the blame,
For it’s all I ever could see offered me.

You can drown in your perversions.
You can stew in your thick hate.
You can find your enemies surround you,
And them, annihilate.

You can bathe in your own prejudice.
You can reach for your release.
You can tar and feather trinkets,
If you don’t destroy my peace.

You can open every wound you’ve had.
You can blame it on the rain.
You can coat yourself in fervour
Until you finally go insane.

You can hope for their destruction.
You can poison their recipes,
But in your own cake’s construction
Don’t you dare destroy my piece.

But peace is an illusion.
And which piece will finally fit?
In the pain of their collusion
What chance that peace will finally stick?

You can wonder what they’re thinking.
You can judge and reprimand.
But in the cloud of sweat and stinking
Hate is all that makes you stand.

You can hope and pray for silence.
You can hope and pray for fire.
When you shovel coals of violence
Hate seems all that you desire.

Behind your gas masks and your rhetoric
You can make faces at their fleas.
You can step on every snail you want,
But don’t destroy my peace.

You can lock their thoughts in cages.
You can manifest disease.
You can curse the fallen ages,
If you don’t destroy my peace.

But peace is an illusion.
And which piece will finally fit?
In the pain of their collusion
What chance that peace will finally stick?

And that peace was only ever an illusion.

How can it be that a single caress
Is enough to flood my banks?
Before your glorious being
I get down on my knees,
Open wide,
And offer thanks.

And when you become
Overwhelmed by my gratitude,
And when a thirst begins to bother.
I’ll lead you to where
You might find a drink,
And nourish you on my water.

And from your warmth and suckle
A burning, squeezing hunger
Between my thighs.
I grip your hair,
And try to hold your stare,
And I beg for your flesh inside.

I exhale as though air
Were ripped from my lungs.
I inhale in much the same way.
I feed on your strength,
I breathe in your love.
I can face another day.

I feel your moaning purr,
And your lapping tongue,
And the way you **** and caress.
I beg again for what
I know I must have,

For what mercy I know will come next…

The longest, driest drought could not truly parch my lands.
So nourished are they by your warm, rich waters.

The coldest, harshest winter could not **** the life in my burrows.
So heated are they by your soft, cozy down.

The deepest, darkest night could not deny my eyes sight.
So filled are they by your radiant light.

So though the surface is cracked, and bodies barely stir,
Though my hands must reach out to find their way.

Though hope is far in the distance, and perhaps only a mirage.
Though words may come slowly, and meaning is a scavenger hunt,

There is life below.
There is life within.
There is life, mine bound to yours.
We begin. We end. We begin.

Should not art be aspirational?
Why then, this sketch of our most putrid places?

Should not art be sensational?
Why then, these small feelings and forlorn faces?

Should not art be an escapade?
Why then, tread only on familiar ground?

Should not art make you feel afraid,
Elated, enraged, or at least something more than flat and drowned?

Should not art be sincere expression?
Why then, is there nothing found here to call relevant?

And when art is thoughtful impression,
Should it not reveal a truth not immediately evident?

There need not be beauty,
Perhaps not even soul.

But if mere pale entertainment,
Should we call it “art” at all?