Did you hear?
Did you see?
Do you enjoy a cup of tea?

Why yes extremely loud.
Of course its hardly missed.
Indeed i do, multiple as the case may be.

What about the quiet?
What about the young?

Its a pleasing luxury rarely available.
Intolerable rude disrespectful.

Are you aware?

Of what my dear?

The colour of your hair.

so *******, honestly. because until tonight i thought i felt okay, but i think i’m lonely.

my heart sticks to the walls of my chest and i’m thankful for the cold because it means i can wear mittens and have an excuse for the spaces between my fingers to be empty.

it’s a quarter after three in the morning, and i miss you.
and i don’t even know who i’m talking to, really.

but that’s kind of the problem, too. i’m not talking to anyone.
everyone’s sleeping, and i’d be sad but i don’t want to be sad anymore.
so i sing to my dog for an hour and do some laundry, and wonder where my words went.

and soon i’ll take a shower, and soon i’ll go to bed,
and soon you’ll wake up and not think of me.
and that’s okay, because as strangers, i have no place in your life.

and as strangers, you have no place in my heart or in my head.
but you, you are everywhere else. and that’s kind of the problem, too.

but i guess i understand why they say lonely people are always up in the middle of the night, because i am. because until tonight i thought i felt okay, but i think i’m lonely.

Have prayed and praised and fasted,
And have done all what one knew to do.
Still sick, jobless, barren or indebted,
One would be wondering what anew
Is to be done more, for a miracle
To happen and dislodge one's obstacle.

Are God's ears deaf, one may think,
Reasoning if his eyes are not blind?
For how could he allow one to sink
In the sea of sorrow, if he is kind
Indeed to every member of his creatures
On earth, whom he daily nurtures?

Yet, the Lord is faithful forever
Despite the many spites of one's life.
Though one may not now be as that feller
Rich, hale and hearty, or like that nymph
Heavy; yet God shall the situation turn
Around. To every even, there must be a morn.

He that for compassion wholly a widow's
Mount of debts leveled and gave progeny
To Sarah and Anna, who alone windows
In heavens made and healed grave infirmity.
Christ can this dead raise and cause that dry
Bone to live again; no pain escapes his eye.

Men who look like ferris wheels
every color representing different aspects of their personality

The first three words don't have to be beautiful
they just have to make sense
like connecting dots on paper

men who love with their fists
and hate with their mouths
who once were boys taking things apart
like remote controls their own fathers used to beat     Obedience into their small bodies.  Left them with a fury tattooed across their hearts
Just to give them the challenge of putting themselves back together

They buy their wive's flowers after
a four day bruise isn't so glaringly purple anymore
not so accusing-
kiss her broken ribs
and tell their children midnight stories

children trained as mood detectors
human robots
know when to shutup
speak when you are spoken to*

Men who speak like cutting boards
Every slice of the knives in their toungues leave
hollow aching missing parts
just to teach their children that not all
things can be put together once taken apart

whose daughter glues together the parts of old telephones
to spite the missing pieces
so every welt he beats into her bones
she sings herself unbroken
until she stands robust and imperfect
there are holes in her armour
but she holds it together

with her fathers fists.

******
a ****** of crows
****** your cousin
a ******
is it a mob, a crime, a vacant thought
depends
on how you view

mur der....