It was like the shift
from noisy waves
to silent streams
that flow smoothly
over the calm chaos

The waves now have
settled to silent streams
with sunken ships
from the strong damage

-Kaya

When did conversation become argumentation?
This form of abuse derived from self irritation,
just drives me in the opposing direction of where you'd like me to go,
there's many destinations that I haven't been shown,
cultivation leading me to venture on my own.
You push and shove for me to grow up already,
but agitation won't make it easier to speed through others lined up in front of me.
If you could just see how much I've been through,
most of it alone, if you could view just how far I've kept motivation,
then someday we might actually get close to were we've been heading this whole time.
Line after line and you have yet to add any up,
you haven't seen my determination, for you just blame it on luck.
Whim did consideration become mediation?
I've lived every waking moment, just for your approbation,
now, everything I've done is incorrect?
The treacherous miles I've overcome are now obliviation I'm your head,
every turn I make just ends up being another mistake.
Something along the lines of aggretion,
which in turn left us were we orginally started, or stopped.
You always try and take me where you want me though I've come so far already.
Sometimes the places you unexpectedly end up are where you're actually supposed to be.

She can't deny herself any more.

She wants more than anything

to eat the heartshaped petals on the side

and swallow her liability. It's dangerous

grinding her secret garden between her teeth. Who could understand

that she covets a beautiful flower, but it's her fault she feels this way;

she compares herself to a sweet orange

when she is like a sour lemon. And then there's a dandelion.

She takes those too, to carry with her prayers

and roses. She dreams flowers will blossom

like goosebumps on her skin. She's anxious

to wear her hair down like grapevines. She feeds her

dreams to the ravens. We treat her with love

and write songs about her.

She felt it, something so beautiful growing in her stomach it ached.

Sometimes I sit here,
Wanting to cry.

But I can't.

And sometimes,
I sit here,
And the tears sneak up on me from out of nowhere.

And there's no way that I,

A small paper sailboat, floating aimlessly in my own sorrow,

Can survive the force of the typhoon coming from my eyes.

A year and a half has passed since I crashed my motorcycle.
The broken bones and road rash had since been cast away.
The gassed up tank and fast paced life were smashed together.
A singular bash that cached my memory.
Lights flashed and all of the sudden whiplash has new meaning.
This thrash of two autos blinked my eyelash three days later.
Paralytic forecast.
I lay flabbergast.

Do you see what I see?
We have descended into the belly of the beast.

Houses crowd together, their dead eyes staring out.
They’ve sprung up overnight like

Ugly toadstools.
The machines on the hill are busy

Scraping away the old. By that I mean
What was there before,

A forest naturally,
And putting up these monstrosities instead.

It can’t be let well enough alone.
There are too many people and someone’s got to make a buck.

The world burns down to the filter.
We suffer the fevers of the dry needle people,

And are left with what has been
Torn out from under us.

Some privy chair propped us up with potions.
Dutiful pawns, riding the arcs they have fashioned,

They pay us a small ransom
To cull and sell their wares.

Simple sticks and carrots are not enough to wake us.
The damage thus wrought we pay no mind to –

Subdivisions, shopping malls, parking lots.
There are too many people and someone has to pay.

there were butterflies
that once flew around
behind my rib cage
every time i would see you
or when you were mentioned,
but it wasn't long before
the butterflies didn't see
the light of day
and, one by one,
they died.

now,
behind the dusty rib cage
in my body
there's several dead butterflies
that once held so much
meaning in each one,
too much time has passed
and when you finally came around again,
they were all dead.

i had to do damage control
when you left the first time,
i cracked open my
own rib cage and
picked up each butterfly
to give them a proper burial,
one that you never gave me
when you thought you had enough
and decided to just leave.

I remember standing 'round
with the houses burning down
                                   around us--
--Shrugs. Not even ducking our heads.

"Well, there goes the neighborhood
and I suppose the timing's good,"
is all I can recall of what you had said.

They never wanted compromise.
And we were not too keen on listening in.
We'd always ignore consequence's size.
Now we're running, trying to mail our checks in.

          We want a means of egress.
          Yeah, just a means of egress.
          It's just a means of egress.
          That's all we really need right now.

They're coming, cracking knuckles now,
intent on cashing debts on our hides.
They'll lift their dividends out of our loot
unless we chase the setting sun to Telluride.

We never wanted compromise
So we put our neighborhood to the match.
Our detractors sporting cross hairs for eyes
are salivating for the thrill of the catch.

          We need a means of egress.
          We seek a means of egress.
          It's just a means of egress.
          That's what we really need right now.

           It's all we really need right now.

          It's the only thing we need right now.

I remember standing 'round
with the houses burning down
                                   around us--
--Shrugs. Not even ducking our heads.