Here dead we lie
Because we did not choose
To live and shame the land
From which we sprung.

Life, to be sure,
Is nothing much to lose,
But young men think it is,
And we were young.

I died before I was born
And I cried when you slipped away....

Chorus:
We didn't know it, but we felt it
We didn't know, yet we felt it
We didn't know it, then we felt it
And when we felt it, then we knew
Oh, we knew
Yes, we knew....

Let's slip outta this time, back into the collective
Let's slip outta this time, back into the colle-ective!

So long ago, together in the nebulae
Had we passed each other then, bonding in spirit?
'Cause I felt myself dying, when you were born
When you slipped out of the conscious collective.....into the human race.

Refrain:
Here, where there's no time, but when it came
There came the wait...oh, and the weight
For, in slipping out of the collective, distracting the soul
You slipped away from me, till we met again.

And so, we're no longer out of the collective....


S T, 6 June 2013

It is my brother's barmitzvah tomorrow,
And he's a little overexcited today,
Screaming, ranting and raving,
While practicing for his barmitzvah.

I think I'm going to write a book
school shootings for dummies
just to **** people off
just so it could get banned
that way all of my other books
could be about fairies and flowers
and endless unconditional love
and people would buy them
"I want to read the school shooting guy's book"
because as much as people pretend to be P.C.
we're still in the Colosseum
screaming at the top of our lungs
for the blood splash catharsis
and we think we are so civilized

I didn't sleep again last night
my yesterday is still taking place
as my fingers gently press these keys
so as to not wake my brother
restless,
I realized,
I've seen a sunset
but never a sunrise

the streets were still asleep
the only ones about
only the down and out
the poor black folk
the aimless hipsters
the homeless
the single mothers with three jobs
who wait alone
under a flickering street light
for the bus which will take them
to their deadpan jobs
the puddles from last night's storm
rest with not a ripple
and the pretty little birdies
start finding their voice
restless,
I realized,
after the sunsets
the world opens up her eyes

periwinkle horizons
blend easily with the grey skyline
and the line between man and God blurs
the sky is tropical mango cocktails
and pillows of white Caribbean sand
the smell is left -
like a residue -
chasing after the tail of a storm
but the air is wet to the touch
hinting at repeat of the downpour
and I would've sat on the arm of that denim sofa
hour after hour
until the world was ready to wake up
giving me a chance to sleep off their insecurities,
only,
I felt like writing this poem
only,
I felt like a sunrise
or maybe a sunset?
or just maybe
a ******* supernova
I felt good
brimming with peace in my gut
like a warm fire
restless,
I realized,
that after all is set
I will still love the sunrise