Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Does it all add up?
You should take it out
of the equation
what's the cost of
disaster & devastation?

An acceptable loss
A reduction
Complete or Total

What's the economics
of a butterfly,
The means tested
of a vegetable,
the equation
for your dreams,
and the measure
for respectable?

Can you budget
for a life?
When all is said
and done,
who's counting
down the barrel of a gun?
Language is changing and fixed by dominant culture. Let's take back the culture, poets..
I spent so much time studying to get the right answers when, in fact, I should have been learning to ask the right questions..
I take strength from them
the mice are scratching inside the walls
I resign myself to the trees
as I move further into the forest, I'm forgotten
The Moon is a clock
I am revealed within, pale skin
a part of me stayed in the city
it makes me docile needy and wrapt
The moon is a clock
that my clouds often block
I resign myself to the trees
I take strength from them
they will struggle through winter with me
I have no faith in flesh
I love
They move below above
the trees wear the earth like a sock
The Moon is a clock
as I lay in the meadow
the grass covers me quickly
the taste of blessed sanctuary becomes sickly
I stare at chipped paint on floorboards
wrap cold knuckles on a dead door
I resign myself
The Moon is a clock
the clouds fluffy socks
we will struggle through winter
I will die in my own little world
this big one a backdrop
The Moon is a clock
As I move further into the forest
the bare trees become more honest
I take strength from them
they are here with me
I have no faith in flesh
the mice are scratching inside the walls
the leaves fall
this blessed sanctuary becomes a trap
my cold knuckles wrap
on a dead door
chipped paint on floorboards
I resign myself to the trees
and The Moon is a clock
The end of another season
wearing t-***** in October,
from a year long binge
I start to sober.

The forest gives its last display of colours
then, leaves drop
so, on the otherside you can discover
what was hidden there all along, by the luscious green:

your bare bones
your trunk, your spine;
the branches of time,
from October 2018 after a year on the wind of desire.
I imagine Death is just Magician revealing his trick.
It involves fireflies from the local 853
building the night sky from leftover bones
planets use for toothpicks and
the breath they leave near.
I am made from oceans.  
Summer disappears here.


Wind is God reciting the word "Remember"
Infinity's ribs plucked clean of rhythm
Quantum equations are breadcrumbs into the Deep
And He is praying for us to sleep
Today a young homeless person died
A politician sighed
A parent cried

And I realised.
three or four conversations a year
the tv goes off
and We confront each other
for who We really are
underneath the pleasantries of Love

You tell me what You went through
when I was too young
to understand
You tell me of passionate youth
and now I get it.

I discover what drove You
the insight of Your desires
the things that felled You
what lit the fires
and now I get it.

You tell me how You struggled
how You fought the inanity
how loneliness claimed You
took You face to face with insanity
and now I get it.

We uncover all my lies
I'm finally honest
I let You in
to how I felt so far from You
when You wanted me close

We learn of a strange bond
that makes Us less deserving
of others help
coming from the best parts of Us
at the bottom

three or four conversations
that bring Us closer each year
relationship seasoning
enriching our shared soul
as life takes toll

- Love You..
We took each other through a lot.. everything changes, even mother and son.
Next page