Build. 
And once destroyed, remember to learn nothing. 

Walk. 
And when arriving, forget to rest. 

Speak. 
Think of what to say, taste the silver tongue's bitter ring.  

In a fit of rage I exclaim-
I have nothing to say. 


Anywhere but here. 

Anyone but me. 


Until then, destroy a child's heart. 

Play under rusted girders. 

Photograph and frame. 

Box and and store far away. 

All memories, all truths. 

And lies. 


All moments of you. 


Remove those. 
Explain yourself. 


And rise. 

Higher toward the sun. 

Your wings draping over the sweet gaze. 

All heavenly light. 

Weep in silence. 

Curse all those before. 

And search for those to come. 


Anyone but me. 


Try again. 

With tongues from different skulls. 

One bleeds. 

And one waits. 


And now there is a no. 

And now there is no now. 


Only your hazy future. 


Or only a brilliant past. 


The first littered with gold. 

And the last rot and decay. 


So remember. 

Anyone but me. 


And your stare. 
Into me for what seems eternal. 


Waking to see you sleeping. 
Covering your sight. 


And walking far off. 
Into wilderness. 

Finding love buried. 
There's nothing after sleeping. 


A year. 

And there are now six. 

Sending off for answers. 


Love the automatic. 
I passed it off. 
Planned for the son. 


Choirs great in their grey woven spells. 
I am a shape in the wood. 


From the vocal thought, my age becomes my choice. 


To return strife. 
In cold silent gaze. 


Pressed into you. 


Ten feet from now I will forget. 

From you into some place obvious. 

A Corvette in a forest. 

With smoke in hand. 

Sewing the ends of this letter loose. 


Fall down new barriers. 

Fall to the sun and fade. 


Walk with moans and smile with rhythm. 

The Baptist arpeggio of a life forced meaningful. 

These cliffs speak of charm and integrity. 

I see him made. 
And I hear his end in the bottle. 

Synthesized in fermented preservation. 

My hands won't move and my face numbs again. 

Against the wind in name of life. 

Wake before ghosts. 
 
Racing home. 

And the horns cry so low. 

With your eyes I find shame. 

Replaced with some word soiled. 

Work found for the haste. 

So I am told to breathe and forgive. 


And I end. 
To begin something I could not finish. 


In leaving I presuppose I will return. 

In gold worth more. 

On wings of purity. 

Lifted to fall and stay humble. 


And the yes I gave should now be a no.