Five hundred towers crumble.
thrones parachuted on spinal cords,
falling flat into city streets
occupied by scavengers.
Ten factories close doors,
tracing lines on cement
of pay stubs half burnt:
draft cards for this new war.
One million fathers cried,
unable to love their sons
without enforcing the same brutal tactics
used against them at work.

Your best odds rest on rest.
Speed kills, horizontal in its nature,
it fights growing upward.
Clouds travel continents,
living conversations between breath
and potential, lazing in
sunshine, dancing into new shapes
on impulses they don't try to control.
Not molded, but explosive,
they disappear, when it's
convenient for them.

The blaze in eyes while stories trade
sings deep rhythms in sand
vibrating into dunes.
Build,
building like pyramids
the cries of slaves pushing boulders
tap toes in hesitant syncopation.

A voice mumbles freedom,
while the Battle Hymn hums
across the backs of necks.
Kisses hiss like water pops
as sparks ascend into stars.
Blue Ribbons are ambivalent
to the sober back of the mind
as words take a decidedly
winning turn towards life.
Alive like fireworks, words
hiss in water pops
as logs and laws disband
themselves into our firepit.