I sink sleeping
in the worst place
All the cameras
have instant action

The gunshots
are a weary book
what can't boil
is a dead hour

You bind coincidental
cramps with piety
killed before the tower
at the Exclusive

The sounds of gunfire penetrate our ears,
Ive been training for this day for years,
My trusty steed below me never leaves my mind,
For he knows id never leave him behind,


A clap of thunder bellows the skies,
The glare of fear never leaving our eyes,
My horse is my shield,
The pain that we yield,
Sticking together through fiery fields,


My master is light so its easy to run,
But this journey is far from done,
Bullets have penetrated my side,
Im down on my knees,
Lost all of my pride,

Then he screams out in pain,
My master is dead alone in the rain,
I scramble too my hooves and try to get away,
But its too hard,
All this hurt
All this pain,
The last thing i heard on that dark winters night
Was the flare of a machine gun,
and im out like a light

disappear with her
and the bar room growls
while the wistful claws
force out into their homes
beneath the swelling sea
from the ruin
of my memory
We walk into Purgatory
the way two children dance to the fair
For minutes
We're there
innocence blesses the sky
our hearts made of white
Light

A harsh world tainted with hate,
Preposterous politics dominate,

A vindictive place were evil thrives,
Under dark tormented skies,

Persuasive satan sows the seed,
Money forming malicious greed,

Many drawn in and led astray,
Souls are sold without dismay,

Nothing left but senscless fates,
Drawn towards the burning stake,

A blame by witch deterant spoken,
Your repulsive eyes are soon to be open.

One backward leaf of
paper to assault my shade of
fey staircase

ink inside a lock of
hare in a black backward box
key for my clock

smoke without a whip's
narrow ghost backward of
a coal haunt

clever stairway it's own
footprint for hare escapes
my backward watch

It's three am
I hear him whisper
"Mommy, I'm scared."
Now 40% of my bed is taken up by a snoring ghost baby.
Goodnight Collin.

heed the pitcher of behavior
mind the contents of your cup
do not censor my books
cut your concern
do not strip me
or lock me away
if you do not like my armor
stop thrashing at me
and remember one thing
you created this
your own perfect enemy
do not scream at my callouses
stop letting me hit the ground
when I fall next to you
it really is that simple

At the end, will it be brandy-wine or mescaline to sugar coat
enlightenment, the purpose,
the omnipotent influence?

Some live to make a whirling dervish swoon.
Some pray to Love, composing sonnets for the moon.
Some find themselves floating, bloated lungs with lazy currents,
mourning free-will.

With questions perched atop your windowsill,
do decomposing wings pull with yearning to wake
in dawn's warning? Your beak,
a rattling, pneumonic drill.

It's a dead end,
fear and adrenaline.
Invite me in
to ostracizing nuisances.

Therefore,
I may imprison myself in cylindrical cells,
pop out wisdom like bubble-wrap,
fight the mighty ocean swells,
or shimmy up the lobster trap,
With inevitable siege by buzzards eying wildly,
shedding sea-salt feathers that won't be washed for weeks.

Still, the mad-hatter trades me one more spill for spill.
And I taste the honesty we sip for swollen memories
whose frantic bodies let fists fly on flushed faces
that we never truly see.

In profound confusion we stumble, blind.
Then, we all forget so blissfully,
once we reach the rainbow's end.