diamonds and rubies
fighting

splash of moonshine
on blood
cold mines
sweet spine

flowing the sweat
like paisley plowing
lightning mud

under the bushes
meadows of bats
black and beneath

By Arcassin Burnham

Kissing the ring of death , now that ain't what you want to do,
Their painting the town red ,really just to make it dead,
Unlock the third one , right in the middle of your head,
Find your power , anything to get loose,
Anything to get loose, that makes,
Other geese jealous and fly away from the one spitting all the
truth,
And we don't bother, for all you hypocritical people still on
snooze,
Soul comes alive like the crow in night when it stalks its prey,
Better hope you do,
Despite the circumstances , I still can't do,
I'm aware of this world , I'm aware of the truth,
I'm aware that they want to make slaves out of you,
I'm wishing that the most high comes through,
I'm wishing that the more that I reach for it, I could see
A better virtue.

My tears draw the
aerial view of a thick
wood, where the hands
of a ghost, carved an
easel whose flavour
brims my mouth with
crimson and purple.
Inspiration.
My tears draw the
shattered background
of a blurred photo of
green patches hanging
on an empty road.
Grief.
My tears draw branches
of olive trees kissing the
foam of the sea of sigh and
whispers.
Melancholy.
My tears draw palm lines.
They read long life
and well being.
Betrayal.
My tears draw the shape
of his eyes, wide open on
my consistency, as vibrant
as a melody of an arcane
chant, the fingerprints of
his protective gestures,
the circle of fire of his
embrace.
Love.

I once felt like words gave me power
Like they gave my quiet shell of a self a leg to stand on
Now I feel like I have none left to speak, to write
I've been drained of verbs and left broken -- immobile
My adjectives fall soft and simple, even the deaf don't pretend to hear
It's strange
Being so far removed from the one you called yourself
I don't know what there is left for me to say
It's like being a young musician on stage
And people have slowly stopped cheering as they realized
You have no more tunes left to play
Yet I've stood frozen, stuck, despite myself
I'm waiting for them to come back
The words
The crowds
The self that I used to know
That I thought I did know
I haven't a clue to where they've left, to where they'll go
But I hope that they find it
The messages they seek
I can no longer provide them
My inkwell bone dry
My spirit missing it's former vibrance, now dully meek
They once called me wicked
I thought it ironically sweet
That for someone so bitter
Many worshiped me

By Arcassin Burnham

Gotta wipe off the seat , sanitation is key,
Squeaky clean future if you make it soon,
Skipping that class in the bathroom,
Be on the phone in the bathroom,
Taking those pills in the bathroom,
Ladies look good in the bathroom,
Not that I spy on the girls room,
Teenagers have *** in the bathroom,
Pick on other kids in the bathroom,
Gather bearings in the bathroom,

Gotta wipe off the seat , sanitation is key,
Squeaky clean future if you make it soon,
Treasures , treasures , they fill the hearts of these people,
Disguised as greed,
It never ends , there are still more sequels,
Pushing and pulling emotions and boundaries,
Can't be weak in this world ,set in every country,
**** on the government in the bathroom.

I
I stole my brother’s car and drove to Phoenix in the dark. Bluegreen glow of dashboard gauges, the faint scent of roadkill and desert marigolds. Tap. Tap. Tap. Insects slapping the windshield like rain. How many miles does it take to turn yourself around, to rise up from ashes? Keep driving. Drive until the sun blooms.

II
Some days were more dire than others. CCTV footage confirms I pawned a shotgun, a Gibson guitar, and my wife’s engagement ring at the pawnshop next to Fatty’s Tattoo parlor. The typographically accurate Declaration of Independence inscribed on my back also confirms this.

III
I ran the tilt-a-whirl at the Ashtabula county fair, fattening up on fried Oreos and elephant ears, flirting behind tent ***** with the cute contortionist with strawberry-blonde hair.

IV
I derailed in a dive bar.

V
I disappeared in a city lit by lavender streetlights, where buildings blotted out the stars and the traffic signals kept perfect time.
I picked through trash bins. I paid for love with drugstore wine.

VI
I closed my eyes on a mountain road. The sheriff extracted me from a ****** snowbank.

VII
I holed up for weeks in an oceanfront motel, dazed by the roar of the breakers. Each morning I drew back the curtains and lost myself in the crisscrossing patterns of whitecaps, the synchronous flight of sanderlings above the dunes. I dreamed of dead horseshoe ***** rolling in with the tide.

VIII
The moon over my shoulder tightened into focus like a prison spotlight. One night the barking dogs undid me. Goodnight, children. Goodbye, my love. I capitulated to the candor of a naked mattress. I grew my beard, an insomniac in a jail cell clinging to bars the color of a morning dove.

IV
I coveted the house keys of strangers.

X
I opened and closed many doors. I sang into the mouths of storm drains. I stepped out of many rooms only to find myself in the room I had just left. Despite all my leaving, I remained.