Sunday on the school grounds
Wiping off the lead crowns
Beds set up in oyster shells
Weren’t we meant to breathe in
Sheriff’s silver casings
That fall out of the sky

And I say
Little red lies on your teeth,
your teeth,
Grinning at church bells
Atop your Van Gogh
window sill

Screams pinned on jackets and
conspiracies sprayed on knees
Black diamonds on the rocks,
the rocks,
This whisper ain’t got any
real privacy

Cutting your hands on dreams
Losing your last memory
Of white rabbits, door habits
Writhing like a royal trapped in
Big cash ins
Flayed for the prize to see

But it’s all
A
Feel
of your
Masterpiece

So meet me, meet me
My sidewalk’s got salt line
Fish in a hunting ring
Leaf in an arctic breeze
I’ve got time I’ve got time
I’ve got cigarettes and lime
Come put this fire out
And take a shot to you

Static sounds
and loading screens
System’s lagging
Count to three

Hey hey hey,
bad signal up here
Give a little more time
I’m getting there

Blinking lights
and reboot signs
‘Fraid the software’s gone, ma’am,
a little haywire

To be a machine,
oh
Binary, binary,
yes or no

But I’ve got a body
and a brain that don’t sync
So strip me for parts, baby
‘cause I doubt I can think

I steal golden apples
From the mouths of the statues of masters
Every night,
I sneak into the garden
Fountains tinkling poems
Rocks whispering symphonies

The sightless eyes of the moon
Track my every breath
Indifferent, uninterested

I bite into my prize
Each sweeter than the last
And I crave,
Crave the fire and ash
That burns my throat when I swallow
That clogs my lungs and eyes

And, the thief I am,
Came crawling back each time
Addicted to the sound of fervour

And every night hear me
Howling at the moon
Every night,
Crumpling into embers and smoke
Baring my soul to a deaf world
Drowning in the sounds of stolen words

Quiet days with the fan turned low
Soft wind across knuckles
In solemn contemplation

The dog sits, begging for scratches
And there’s only me,
the air
and all the rumbling thunder
of thoughts and headspace
In between

The concrete sidewalks
And metal rails
Are dry and wrung of rain

But the soil remembers the storm
And the trees don’t forget its taste

oh tales of rivers
and thunder cries
with rainstorm tears
and starry eyes

sing me a song
whistled ‘tween trees
howl me a moon
with Night’s black winds

the people light fires
in prayer to the sun
and the ravens tell lies
to the broken they’re sung

but all stories end
with a lesson or two
and this echo will carry
black winds, black wounds