when do they think of,
lying there, bequeath of me-
aslumber gentle genocide
to play games
with the past.
rested and arrested
by the mammoth hypocrisy-
gentle swaying zombies,
crying wolf to the breeze.
take me out there-
never mind-
I know the demons
make a mock of thee.
and truce! TRUCE!
territory vain,
vastly crazy, undo strangers,
taking mine own legacy.
and how, certainly you notice
vainly truth mixing ******,
I knew once
how sweet the poison is.

there were times
when I
fell asleep beside
a childless eye.
and what they never
could of known
was the vision
that had grown
was a slumber
from a mindless flight.

so it took some getting away
to be free.
and the world would say,
"I'm not on your side."

So, weapons were built in me
that caused a farce
of serenity.
Should the powers
of known
of the vision
that had grown
they'd know the power
of a childless me.

there's a certain ice
that runs through my veins
where darkness is a wallow
of remembrance.
chastise holy consecration!
God! Can't you see
that I cannot speak your tongue
for you took the child
out of me?
certainly when saints
gather 'round the abbey,
they hold a circle of thorns
and cry for me,
with understanding.

every time I think I might
you spin me 'round in lucidity.
though they tamper, what they tamper
is pale blue windows of your simplicity.
when you sang to me from the tempest,
it was as imagined, and I caved,
well they still grab hold of where I was,
but I left for the better that I braved.
sweetness I am still standing
in the ash that burned that place,
and weakened still, chaos gets its fill-
relatively found revelation in your face.

I don't know

why there is dusk to dawn,

grass on my lawn,

why a king beats a pawn,

or why the wasp

dies when it stings.

but I know a redbird

when it sings.



I don't know

what I have in my hand,

why a soldier takes the command,

why love should be banned,

whether I'm outside

or if I belong.

but I can recall

the redbird's song.



I can't say

what's nice or mean,

to freeze in winter,

to flourish in spring.

I can't shout

or cry

or do these marvelous things,

but I notice

when the redbird spreads its wings.