We ran out of things to talk about.
So I sipped my cold coffee instead, waiting for something to happen.
Anything that'll make the entire thing less awkward.
I caught you staring with that goofy smile and that's when I knew
That instead of anything,
Instead of something,
I got everything.

Everything heavy
settles
accumulating
as I go about
my external life
like my inner one
doesn't exist

when the tide
recedes
on my knees
in the fetid mud
I will dredge
meaning from
the layers

Robins scurry, heads askew
listening to an underground frequency
smooth rasp of worm skin slipping
through subterranean mazes.

The ever-changing pond
mirrors varied green and clouds
mythical beasts reflect and rest
weary from endless migration.

Eagles ride the wind
fingered wings minutely adjusting
as the current rockets them aloft
on a thermal through the blue.

The heron balanced on a spine of rock
cares only if the tiny fish
silver under the surface skin
will soon belong to him.

Each in tune effortlessly
on earth, in air
never regretting being here
or there.

While earthbound creature, I
am reconciled to a grounded fate
as winter rain lashes the edges
of my ragged, useless wings.

Shepard in a field,
crucified upon  a wooden fence
Your grieving flock was scattered
worldly

Liberty's book was swiftly plunged into
the blood of bigotry
Fascism laughed in tones of red, white and blue

Land where our fathers died
Land where our bigots hide
I say to you Amen...

I love Jesus;
you must too
resounded these hollow
words

Hate is now the doctrine
intertwined morph-boiled into fear and hate,
being poured over enlightenment
in destruction of green lands
engulfing
youthful sprouts
in destructive steamy waters

The book of Leviticus
is the demise of reason
fractured from critical thinking;
allocated to the current pulped-swine,
swaying in hypnosis listeners of these pulpit-swine-beasts;
they embark with twisted trepidation's disdain

Shepard in other fields of life
into brute submissions
you will succumb being baptised
in your own red pools,
being smitten by the pulpit-swine-listners
of ancient prophets

The dirge, the slow dirge is heard
throughout our delicate land

Ooh sweet brilliant Oscar, we still suffer
as you had
my brilliant Irish lad

I love Jesus
you
must too
My country tis not for me
sweet land of bigotry
to thee I sing, to thee I sing...