"what was the Maltese Falcon?" the boy asks.

his father replies, "The stuff that dreams are made of."


the world is loud:
sirens,
headlines,
grief, love, fear,
heartbreak and flames.

life is a rat race
and the rats are winning

so throw confetti at the funeral.

we name our ghosts
and call them love.
we chase the falcon
of black painted lead,
light candles in an empty room
and call it faith.

where do we go from here?

walk against the parade
through costumes,
floats and marching bands?

the night runs through us all
while the world politely burns.

we call it sanity...this quiet compliance.

but clarity assumes rebellion.
take the straight line
through the storm.

throw confetti at our funeral.
(sadness wears confetti, well.)


every moment the soul screams
we tread closer to the razor's edge.

will you be Atlas
and carry it as a curse

wrap it in a blanket
cozy in a purse

would you be
kind and aware
sitting in a chair
guarding it with care

or smack it on the ground
saying you've found

a medicine to the wounds

A blank slate

So much to await
A chance to renew

A beginning for you

For others as well

New stories to tell

Fresh pages to write

All seeking the light

You might hope to find

Or be left behind

While others all seem

To have found the scheme

Their lives look bright

As if they’ve got it right

But inside they might too

Feel the same as you

You say you’re aware
That your mind is fair

Yet still you believe

You cannot achieve

Truth hides away

Some stars will not stay

There’s darkness before

And friends at the door

Their words make you grow
Their light helps you glow

Though shadows consume

They help you resume

Seasons change
You feel strange
You still don’t know the deal
Still don’t know how to feel

You’re locked behind bars
Scratching at old scars
Changing schools and sections
Facing others reflections

The words that I write

May seem small in your light

But I share them with you

‘Cause you might’ve felt them too <33

It's everybody's job.

Détente, rollback, middle-ground.

Working it until an internal weakness is found.

Surround the town with wire.

Eventually their voices will tire.

It does not work with fixed plans. It does not take unnecessary risks. Impervious to the logic of reason, and it is highly sensitive to the logic of force.

For this reason, it can easily withdraw—and usually does when strong resistance is encountered at any point.

~
A blood promise
On the threshing floor
--a strand named Skull of Sidon.

The sunset passage
No longer a place for them,
The acceptance of absolute negation
Remedios the beauty.

Saint Fishermen churn in the waves
Crushing grapes from the estate,
Even the girl with the silver eyes,
Only then will their house be blessed.

Women uncharted,
But prisoned on watery shore,
Hum a silent prayer.

This is atonement day,
May grace be with them
In all the days ahead.
~