Among his brethren he finds himself
Scattered, he knows
the light cannot save him now
away from the reaches of his kind
he seeks solace
the dark can only bring.
Come Heaven’s wrath or Gaia’s rage
let the next day come.
He is grounded, safe
in Earth’s embrace
Until he sheds his skin,
Relinquish his shield.
Burst forth from the Haven that stifles his breath
Bloom Before his Brothers might breathe
Blossom Beyond his hours to be
He is where the light abates
Tell Hades to wait
Beyond the river, Before the gate
And when the time is ripe
Listen to the death of fate.

i write from the 1st of october. i write from cold air and turning seasons. from hazy days and lazy days and 'maybe things will be okay's. i write from stale bread and cold tea cause id made it at half past three, and the wind is blowing.
and i want to wear my dads big old fairisle jumper because somehow, it always smells of him. and the wind is blowing.
i write from the 1st of october. i write from endless evenings and too many cigarettes and a craving for my mothers supermarket box wine. i write from tired eyes and floaty songs and i write because im feeling fine. and time is passing before my eyes and it makes me feel uneasy because these are the years i want to remember. the 1st of octobers and 6th of februraries and 27th of mays. and all the other days.
i write from the 1st of october. i write from awful poetry and laddered tights and dreams about boys that got lost in the city. in more ways than one.
i write from the 1st of october, and the wind is blowing.

Can you have decent political opinions and still be a bad person?
I'm asking for a friend
How much theory does it take to build up the courage to stand in a protest?
Does a bandana covering your face make you a coward or does it make you careful?
See my friend knows which side he stands on
But when he looks in the mirror there seems to be a different person on each side
The most direct action he takes is sitting alone reading Marx
He's never left the sidelines long enough to understand the front lines
Dignity and freedom are nothing more than dictionary definitions
Liberation is too hard to grasp
He wants to know if it's ok to be timid when the marchers pass him by
If it's ok to doubt his own strength  

My friend spends too much time driving around singing folk punk anarchist hymns
And not enough time living the lyrics
Deep down inside he is still afraid of what people will say about him
He hates that he can be so self centered
He usually doesn't wash his dishes
My friend talks about shedding chains when he never really had that many to start with
He asks if anarchists are allowed to watch shows about cops
He wants to know if anyone will ever truly see him as an ally

Every night I take a moment to tell him not to be so afraid of taking the stand
That what he thinks will only go so far as what he does
My friend wants everyone to live in a better world and he wants to be a better person
I tell him that no one will hear you until you yell loud enough
I tell him that the there's no better place to stand than where he is
He knows better than to give up
He knows he is enough

You will not see my shadow pass
the gate of mournings eerie dark
Nor hear my voice among the reeds
that grow above my silenced heart
No fondest kiss to furrowed brow
to quell the torment of your making
for you have left me here alone
to sleep the sleep that knows no waking.

I can not find Mae's recipe for Swedish rye bread;
I thought it was taped to the fridge next

to obituaries, and the phone number
of Joon’s Korean restaurant.  She knew

the bread recipe the way one knows the feel
of a lover’s back or a favorite character

of a cherished book.  I seldom think of her,
mostly when I am hungry or cold.  Today

I am both, and it is only September;
what will become of me by December?

I made a film last night about a man
who hates  neckties—silk, cotton,
and bow.  It is a documentary
of sorts,  that reveals  his
drawbacks, peccadillos,
discrepancies, lies,
and misdeeds.

I am the only character, me,
you can not watch it.
Never.   It is mine
to slowly edit,
and wallow
as I view.

If I could hold you
And never let go
I would do that

To feel the warmth
Of your body on mine
Is soothing and serene
Like tea on a cold morning
Or whiskey on a winter night

The feeling of your breath
On the bare skin of my shoulders
Shifts my heartbeat into high gear
And fills my mind with electricity
Making me realize that life is good
After years of thinking it was hell