I'm a wordsmith
A word that starts and smarts
The pain across your face
Like a whip

I'm a wordsmith
They bounce upon the page and skin
And seep into the cracks
Like water

I'm a wordsmith
The lines all blur to one
My voice, your ears, the future
Like a whip.

Here comes the sun in all its glory
tracing the hemisphere in its slow
rise over rubble, but first the tallest
steel and concrete dedications to
the lives living high while their
green shadow casts below over
the desecrated. I see bright night light
shining blue. I see wide, wild light
only high noon. Morning, all day
veins are caving under the rubble
under the tallest.
Here comes the nasty truth, suited
in belts clasped with wealth for
well being, beating the lies with
a dollar sign, until the ugliness
of the first story presses like
meat into the underneath, under
the detritus concealing lives in
the dirt with the needles.
I see bright night light shining blue
in the park restrooms. I see wide, wild
light only high noon from the under-bridge,
waiting for trains to come crush.

I'd like to eat, but I'm sleepless
waking while seeing the sun rest
greeting again before I shut my eyes
to the day that I endlessly live.
I'd like to dream, but I'm dreamless
to demands of fear from my brain
where it sits in the head controlling
impulse then flooding just when it wants.

I'll **** your **** for a five or a ten
and here when you thought you'd
never find a silent friend.
I'm on the cheap should you need me,
for a tap on the fingertips.

I'd like to be where you all say no
to the presence of reverie
in the face of the guarantee
I'm preemptively broke
for the moment of falling down
where I wave and I bring you in
to home and a ******* meal

Do you believe the powers come from heaven in rain?
Denounce the brittle, little lies that keep you detained.
With one fell swoop your family denies that womb water
from their line ever held you. Our child, disgraceful.
Hold me now, wicked wind, in twilight to find truth,
for no amount of trying will mend the boards began
pried to the point of breaking right loose. Glue won't
fix this rift. Don't worry, I find it nice that some do
get to choose. Ungrateful mug, she rejected our
love by walking with her brow upright. Beaten none,
for the patchwork of lashes mashed in back above
the *** of property, branded and pushed in.

The sky will call a caw for you on one more day
you kept yourself from death, promising to do
your due, never invite the listless, self-inflicted
sorrow, others lip to ear in shadow gaslight to
imbue. One more day others in shadow decline
interview.

I. Will sing a prayer.
(She denies the gods given)
I. Own nothing to give.
(Free and kindly)
I. Will sing.
As much and where I would like to sing.
(She's another one with a will)
Not crying at the back of the world, not holding just to hold.
(She's another one who hunts happiness as if to others she's disappeared)
Not stopping to cry back at the ceiling holding me
to the floor in a box as its missing pieces

(When she's only a another piece)