Winds bellowed angry hymns
but braving choirs she stood,
In the monastery with windows broken
inside the monk’s dark hood.

The shattered blues, sunny golden,
colored glass lay hidden, choken.
Gasless cars lay indisposed,
stuck in quicksand; growing cold.

Blood ****** in blackest charcoal night
and empty tanks lie heavy in the heart.

Welcome to Marlboro Country
where
smokestacks leave a dreary,
grey encrusted sky.
Lead envelopes the haze
as silver lining to a cloud.
And all the tiny puppets
line up and take their turn,
flying high through the smog,
twirling and spinning
but land disheveled;
Broken.
And get in line again.  

They watch from tall windows,
each a suit and a grin,
their malevolent faces
show thoughts from within.
Wealth over health over morals over
Death.
Greed even trumps their daughters’ last
Breath.

Deep inside the heart collides
With the majesty that is the sun.
And polyps grow on feet below -
Where the grandeur is forced to shun.

Grey gritty gravel gets jammed
Between my toes,
And flies through a rolled up twenty
To stay wedged far in my nose.

If sinus’s are clogged like pours,
Scratched by a Cheetos finger,
The rocks get stuck and Id mocks
While the crush starts to linger;

Numbs the cavity where inside lives
A thousand hungry hippies
Sitting still until they see
A cloud up on a water lily.

So set out to feed their queen bee
Whom lives inside the skull
(And) demands, commands, yearns and pleads
To feel that numbing null.

With miles to go before I sleep
and sounds around risen from the deep;
If I heard them, should I keep
the memories from haunting?

And as the grey rolls into black,
can you see the white hiding in the back?
The foundation that let’s us hold fast
and gives the hope to make it last.  

I see faces in the pages
jumbled between line spaces.
Hallucinations become engrained in
my vision while I listen

to the clack of chalk
scribbled
spat from fingers
and thoughts
dribbled.