The end of the world,
it just exploded!

With a smattering of light brimstone and fire and a gentle, heavenly rain.  It just started, while I stood in the kitchen, sipping tea, trying to remember my shopping list and wondering if I should even bother, to get ready for work, could I just fake it and gain another day where I could wallow? I weighted my earning ability against what a simple day, for me, would be able to gain.
It was just another day...
One that started the same as every other one, but proceeded to bleed, only to leave a stain…
Oh great, (my first thought)
just another laundry duty for me…

But I digress…

Oh yes, that’s right, I’m drinking my tea, my daughter in front of me… she starts talking, her lips are moving but her words are dissolving my existence that surrounds me...

Where was I?

Yes, there was a big explosion, the world rocked and I’m ambivalent as the earth cracks beneath me and all I can see is a world that has been shaken to its core.
My kitchen fades away… (where the hell is my cup of tea????)

I’m in the middle of the street, the people that I meet are screaming because they also felt it. That explosion that rocked their world that opened the cracks in the earth to release the fire and brimstone. Ugh, the smell of sulpher! I briefly wondered if I would ever get the smell out of our pretty, outdated, papered walls?

Again, I digress…

I’m floating above the cracks watching as humankind drops to their knees, begging their chosen Deity to save them as the fires of Hell wrap tendrils of Regret around the ankles of those that have been Chosen while a really bright light lifts those from their knees, to ascend to Nirvana, I guess they are the ones who prayed really hard… Bully for them! I guess the others should not have weaved when they should have woven!
Not me though!

I’m still floating, in between, as the world ruptures I’m still just hanging, caught between up above and down below. I don’t know if it is because, it is so obvious, Heaven will never let me in and Hell has already said Not just No… but… HELL NO!

But I digress…

What I’m completely fascinated by is that at the End of the World I’m wholly focused on the boy that is fair of hair and fair of face and appears to be full of Grace and while I thought he would ascend, he is grabbed by a lick of fire from Hell.
I’m completely fascinated, that such a nice boy, would be chosen to descend below (I honestly would have pegged him for Heaven) but I can only **** my head, and pretend I don’t see...
Honestly… what do I know?

I’m watching the World fall apart!

Explosions, fire and brimstone, completely lost souls trying to crawl into grace, it all happened to me, while drinking my tea, while my daughter stood talking to me…

What is she saying?

I’m back to standing in my kitchen, cup of tea in my hand and I actually hear the words that my daughter is saying to me and it all goes back to where it began…

So Mum, there is this boy….

Oh God! There it is…

And there is another explosion… again!

Dec 1, 2010

Bullet and blade
Have ended
Many a friend.

Some were warriors
Living by sword, others
Just unlucky.

No one safe from
Anything. I buy her
Pepperspray instead of

Flowers these days.
Keep leaving
Butterfly knives in the

Pockets of her coats.
I am a man of non-violence,
But one with worlds to lose.

I miss the days when the fight
Ended as ground was hit.
Knuckles and bones were

All we needed; men fencing
For themselves with nothing
But themselves,  

And women were there to be
Charmed and fought over. Not
Left torn and terrified

In a ditch, broken beyond repair,
Their men helplessly wielding
Lead and steel at the absence

Of the animal responsible.
I'll buy her flowers today.
Flowers, and walk her home.

Bullet and blade
Have ended
Many a friend.

The weight of their
Tragedies is about the
Same

As that of the crates of ammunition
It takes to keep the world
Safe from the threat of itself.

They tell us to be individuals,
But give us a uniform,
To protect us from each other,
Because were humans and we judge.

The clothes we wear define us,
The way we speak undermines us,
The way we act proves whether were good or bad
But the things we feel stay inside us.

Maybe we should destroy mirrors,
To then destroy our own problems.
The things we hate about ourselves
Become reflected on others
In fits of jealousy.

I guess to be individuals,
We must expect to be judged,
We have to sink into the crowd,
To eliminate that judgement.
But it won't change a thing
Because there will always be something
That people don't like about us.

There's your individuality.

Everyone hates
a book with a terrible ending.

That disappointment
that settles in on the last page.

My bed is that feeling of disappointment
every morning I wake up on January 1st.

365 pages;
Ending everything with a sorrowful bang.

I don't even have words,
For the ways that I don't feel,
I am not the waving of the fields.

I hold onto songs about the moon,
My tides do not swell with her,
I am more the darkness in this room,
Cold, unmoving, absolute.

I am not the motion of your hair,
As he runs his fingers through it,
I no longer even stare.

I Am not the climbing of tree,
I do not yearn upward,
Is there anything to see?
(or be?)

I am not the warmness of your breath,
Clinging tight to your fingers,
And the inside of your chest,

I am not the dreams you make,
As dragons fly by night,
And sparks flow in your wake.

I am not the whispers,
You feel close to your ears,
I am more like distant echoes,

I wish I could break
Shatter into a million pieces
Of sharded glass, waiting to be stepped on.
Causing you to bleed wouldn't hurt me
Because I would already be broken.

This universe doesn't give a ****
Whether we're moving
Or camping out on life's sidelines.
The doers, in the end
Meet the same fate as the dreamers.

I want you to break me.
Work me until I fall apart
Until I can't take it anymore.
At least then
I will overdose on my need for perfection
Before I die of it.
You can take my needle from me
Before my heart stops beating.
Before it turns my blue vein black.

Then maybe I can stop craving
Everything that hopes to **** me off.

They chop and burn God's growth,
all sworn under his oath.
Guns in hand,
another Promise Land
just to wipe out the good
because they are told they could.
How are we equal
when Big Brother puts down fights?
Don't bother shielding your rights.
Believe terrorists are everyone.
Your neighbor. Your priest. Yourself.
The one percent we are slaves to,
feed us a chemical brew.
Let's sit back like sheep -
Now don't complain or weep.

The last time I sat down with myself
was in the sink
in the dark
penetrating the only creative train I could find.
Coal, cargo...
Robbing words so I didn't have to think
or explain the difference between
'deeming' language and
'demon' language.
From my perspective in the sink,
the retouching of morals
is all circumstantial
because maybe tomorrow I'll save the fire
instead of the human,
you know, save the fire from the human.
That way, I don't have to decide
who's going to burn.

Regardless of what the future holds, I know
that no feat of mathematical precision
no combination of zeroes and ones
no mechanical tool, no algorithm
can replicate your face.
In the rise and fall of your eyelids
and the pursing of your lips
there is a lawless radiance.

The braches of the faint oak were bewitched to a dark gold under
the orange, thick silk sunset. 
The wood, as the sun lowered, changed from apple green
to golden billow
which swept foamy,
rose clouds along a now cucumber, blurry horizon.
Plump plums and fruit rinds
litter ripe walkways alongside the flower beds who's tickled buds
are closing slightly as the fickle sky, gone nine, turns to a majestic
Indian blue and the June monastery's milky swirls are lit by the sugar lump stars.

There's room for your every
Blade between my ribs.
I have a thousand other
Cheeks to turn when

You need to fling
Frustration from the channels
Of your heart's palms.
I can take all your punches.

I am a statue to your weathers.
I am the sound of handfulls of
Dirt and pebbles against an empty
Casket. I can take out my every

Nerve, my heart, my pain centre
And place it in a pocket; take it
All back out when you need to
Dillute your tears with mine

Over some matter that weighs
Heavy on the hearts of little
Girls playing with big boys; falling
From swings designed for

Denser bones and hands rough
From climbing. I am the teddy
Bear missing an eye and a limb,
Exposing stuffing through seams

Torn from being dragged over
Stairs and through sandboxes,
Always a thump behind little legs
That carry love for it, unequal to

Any.

I have given you
So much.

Still I find with
Every thing I give you,
You give two back

So I have four to give; and
Recieve your eight.
Feeding wealth to feed itself
To feed itself itself.
You taught me
Circle.

You have given me
So much.