the powdered books fall from the aged and worn case
of the writer and the reader, two as one
the reader writes a message in the null space

the lines tell one story of the author's own race
but the margins pull you into another's sun
the powdered books fall from the aged and worn case

They in the main text say a writer needs her own place
One can't be with an army for a personal battle won
the reader writes a message in the null space

To write a piece of truth she must have not a trace
of the bias of the things this world has done
the powdered books fall from the aged and worn case

The margin gives the good reader a true taste
of the state of mind of the writer as her tale she spun
the reader writes a message in the null space

What are the margins of our countries and states?
Do we choose to live in the margins or are we forced with a gun?
the powdered books fall from the aged and worn case
the reader writes a message in the null space

Night on that rooftop
I will never forget
Watching the seconds and breaths
Collect

Breaking the promises I’d sworn to keep
And bearing witness as the rain collect to sea
To the melody of secrets
Whispered late at night
Collecting heat in the fire of that fight

And the flames danced blue
To the swing of the familiar song
You said was true
but to me always rang on for too long