.
Etched in smoke, burnished by olden sun,
The runner grasses wave below into maze,
For eyes in cloud to clutch on mottled vermin,
Higher in stations, a judgement for all grazer,

Pleated feathers arched in weightless stone,
Are blades as steely as any burnt ploughmans
And airs that break, lift hawk far into sun shone,
As quake of earth strikes up a still haired louse,

For blades of green shall call, bleed in grasses
And whisper will shout, downing smallest might,
Tiny beasts who crawl among waveing masses,
To hawk over hill, sheering in raiments of light.

By Arcassin Burnham


In this life you gotta know your worth,
The unfairness isn't at it's worst,
Everybody else has a purpose too,
some forgive some will work,
They might put your name in the dirt,
Like cleansing sins by the faucet,
if your friend don't come out the closet,
i won't judge this is way beyond me,
so if you hate your life , its not your fault.
i'm entitled to ignore all the flaws.
even mine , i don't shy away.
Be careful little mouth ,what you say..

life will put you down at any means, with no mercy..
be careful little mind what you think , they'll be lurking..
life will put you down at any means, with no mercy..
be careful little mind what you think , they'll be lurking..

Planting drugs in your locker,
no scholarship , non , nada,
it'll be wrong to play accuser,
heart full of bullet holes like who shot ya?
knowing that anywhere ain't safe,
for awhile just hold your fate,
can't trust half of the people in this town of mine,
they're nearly just fake,
so if you hate your life , its not your fault.
i'm entitled to ignore all the flaws.
even mine , i don't shy away.
Be careful little mouth ,what you say..

life will put you down at any means, with no mercy..
be careful little mind what you think , they'll be lurking..
life will put you down at any means, with no mercy..
be careful little mind what you think , they'll be lurking..

I sometimes search the Internet
Looking for my father’s Rickenbacker guitar
Though I rarely heard him play it
That sliding sound, with my bedroom door ajar

More often I can see it still
In our parlor in its dedicated space
It must be strum while sitting down
Its elevated strings silent in its case

I couldn’t comprehend it then
Though looking back now it seems a little cruel
That on the day my father died
Like any other day, I went on to school

That day began as usual
My father and I-an ordinary ride
Until he swerved right off the road
While I lurched to his side and watched while he died

His heart had stopped, and even now
I try to remember a look or a trace
Wondering why his lips turned blue
And a wave of pale, deep pain was on his face

His death was never talked about
I was clueless about what to do or say
No one ever spoke to me then
When I was driven to school on that same day

I can’t remember anything
About the details of our lives before then
I catch up watching family films
He left when I was only 9, almost 10

I know we have gifts that differ
I believe according to my Father’s Grace
That the gift my father left me
I sometimes see it written on my own face

And in strains of music heard
That sliding, soulful sound in Hawaiian songs
Or when Neil’s Harvest album plays
I stop-and like a prayer I sing along

I looked for his guitar again
It’s now worth so many thousand dollars more
All I have is faded memories
Haunting strains of music coming through my door

She might have needed 50 bucks
When I asked it was the story she would tell
About my dad’s Rickenbacker
That I fiercely begged my mother not to sell