This is a club scene poem, so
imagine classics from the nineties
and fearless girls drinking from beer tins-
this is that night you want to omit
and not remember,
this is every night you’ve had to dance
and not wanted to.*

He dropped his drink
for the red-bra-girl;
she thought it the rain,
but instead it were a wasted
drink down the cigarette drain.

Girls in Jack Daniels
who don’t like whiskey
nor dances,
nor the sting of alcohol
upon their tongue.

I sit on this island                                                           ­                                                 I sit on this boat
             ill-equipped                                                     ­                                                   ill-equipped
 ­        How I got here?                                                            ­                                        How I got here?
             well... by ship                                                                                             ­     island trip...        
  
         I simply stare out                                                              ­                               I gaze upon the
                   upon the sea                                                              ­                            empty sea
             No ounce of hope                                                             ­                          All out of faith
                         left for me                                                               ­                     inside of me
          
                  I think of times                                                            ­                   I recall the time
                   away from land                                                             ­               earth so grand
                        My tears drop                                                             ­           Sobbing quietly
                         splash on sand                                                             ­        into my hand
          
                     Huh? What's that!?                                                           ­ Wait! Is it true!?
                                           could it be?                                            more than sea?
                                 Swimming, swimming                           Rowing, rowing
                                                          ­      hurriedly            steadfastly
                          ­              
                                                  ­                       SHIP!  LAND!
                                                           ­                    I'm free!
                                                           ­                         ...

26 angels have arrived for orientation
Taken from the world without hesitation
Heaven is a little more crowded:
There’s a place already prepared
At least tonight those who’ve passed,
Will rest in God’s care

Buried under heartbreak, Newtown still stands
Worlds changed, for this kid and the next
“Kids, 2 +2 is…” BANG -
Children were unable to protect,
Themselves or their friends

Gunshots filled the air
Instead of love that should be there

Flags at half-staff, leave us half-hearted
Soo many, like too many,
Will spend their Christmas
With families torn apart
And no New Years resolution
Can make up for the inhuman execution

May we ever look to love unconditionally.

Always saying I love you, baby.
But they’ve only been together a day.
Captivated by the way the
Darkness of each other’s pupils grow
Every time they touch.
Forcing the kind of relationships, but more of the
Groping, that they saw in the movies.
Heated make out sessions in the church youth room, with
Intensity that could make strippers blush.
Juxtaposing every inch of their bodies.
Knowing what to do only because of what they
Learned in health class. Trying to
Master the art of *** and what they call love,
Not caring who knows. Living off each
Other’s breaths. Fabricating
Plans and stories for their parents when they’re caught
Quietly sneaking back into their
Rooms at four in the morning,
Shutting their doors and their eyelids,
Tracing remnant goose bumps.
Until the sun shines into their windows,
Violating their dreams of Cinderella and Prince Charming,
Washing the night from their skin, and shoving their
******* memories to the back and hiding them in a drawer.
Yearning to be touched again, by whom ever the next
Zephyr can blow into their neighborhood.

I looked into the darkness
  And they were there
Some were barely twenty
  A few a little more.

They did not move,
They were dead.

And the war went on without them.

Back into the jungle
Like deadly ghost we went.
I looked behind me,
They did not follow

They did not move
They were dead.

And the war went on without them.

A flash of fire, a terrible pain
  I cry out to my mother.
Wait for me I cried
But no one heard.

I did not move
I was dead.

And the war went on without me.