before the world ends
begin.

that you may not love
is the haunting.

where your ghost is rain
your mind clouds.

and nothing is foreseen
like the past.

II

in the long watch of this blindness
we are surely rogue begonias
needling the impenetrable nethers
of our low coronas
we jest in the rage of our humors
gilding the uvula
of our golden throats
trilling in the infinite sublime
and gain no quarter
note.

unabridged, we straddle the span
of our chasm.

and there,
we seek to stand apart
from whatever wounds
we fathom.

All of these Catholic girls
With their attitudes and high heels
They used to wear skirts
But since then, they've grown wheels
Making there way over to me
Smiling white and talking pretty
What is it that they can't see?
I was raised in whatever with a Christmas tree

I was born in a junkyard
Where the dogs come out to play
They were being taught by nuns
While I sidestepped Him in my own way
They don't teach you that Jesus can't save you
In a school where they take you for what you have

You're really sweet with your mouth
And the way you move your lips
I really want a piece of you
To put my hands on your hips
But I've seen the signs, baby
And they point the other way
But if I'm wrong, then maybe
I'll stay because my heart's made of clay

Now if you'd please give me a moment
Just stay there while I think about this
I have to clear my big head again
Because you've filled it with nonsense
So just excuse me, dear, excuse me, honey
Look the other way while I'm down on myself
Raised in a little house, never much money
And now that I'm older, I don't need no help
So please, please just be on your way
I can't help myself when I'm feeling this way

Empty eyes,cap in hand,watch them stand.
The pride and joy of our great nation bumming coins outside St.Pancras railway station,boy 'if they could see me now'how the other half survive,turned up collars,downcast eyes and if you see them too,tell me please,what do you do,'walk on by' pass some time,give a dollar,throw a dime?
In the dockyard,broken down but once the busiest place in town sits Tony Green and he has seen years come and go,could tell your fortune from your palm and yet he's blind to his own fate,so he'll wait until the soup run comes and walk slowly with the other outcast tramps and bums,some who've had such different days and now like the docks are in decay and this is pride,the British way.

If it's true we live and learn and yet don't concern ourselves with others,sisters,brothers on their uppers,
what does that make us become?

Lilacs are blooming
In the sunshine watch them sway
In the blowing breeze

**~Marian~

At first, I felt like an invader. A trespasser in these spirits’ home.
The stillness swirled around me, as if it were trying to dizzy me away.
The tombstones didn’t want me there. I was abhorrent.

But then, I felt a kindling inside of me.
And as I sat in solitude under the withered old tree between the graves at 2am,
I couldn’t help but feel like the tombstones were my friends.
I couldn’t help but feel like a tombstone myself.

All I was was a symbol for what I had once been, a memory of who I once was.
What was inside of me, though, was just ashes of the past.
Sometimes people visited, dropping off a flower of hope or love or anguish,
But once that flower died, I was dead.

I started to cry.
I cried for these people, these new friends of mine.
I cried for their pasts.
I cried for my own.

And in that moment, I realized,
I was meant to be a tombstone.
People were meant to visit my grave. People were meant to cry for me.
I wasn’t meant to have a happy life. I was meant to have a memorable death.
I was meant to transform into a tombstone, for the world to visit and cry for.

And that was okay with me.

{alaska}

fire torched fear
frayed along the borders of new promise
where the once sought after fortitude
con-caved into white ash
taken back by the east wind
the origin of decline
for in these pieces
lay with me
my passion and my pride