the waves of words so silent wash over us again
there is no boat to ride these phrases over to the end
but should you need to breathe this love's a vest that you can wear
and we can both stay on the crest to feel the ocean air

Upon a snowy peak, in eastern Russia, sits Dmitri with his table of God,

Graying hairs and skylines, ink is splatter on the paper that Dmitri organized,

Only he can see the way it fits together,
like a puzzle like the coordinates of a map like the legend,
this god, this is God he sings inside his lonely office
this God,
this is Gods table,

Upon a snowy peak in eastern Russia sits a man predicting God and where he is,

Lucid dreams of heaven, only one correction made when he awakened from his sleep,

Only he can see the way it fits together,
like a puzzle like the coordinates of a map like the legend,
this god, this is God he screams inside his lonely coffin
this God,
this is Gods table,


Upon a snowy peak, in eastern Russia, sits Dmitri with his table of God

How free are you?

You wake up every day at a predetermined time that cooperates with your early morning schedule.

You hurry up and eat and get ready to make it to school.

When you get to school you have X minutes to be ready for class.

You run to a class you don't like but apparently need to make it there on time.

You sit for X amount of time in a classroom participating in activities and lectures you couldn't care less about.

Then, once the bell dismisses you, you run to another class, hoping to make it on time to the exact same situation you just faced.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

When the final bell lets you leave, you run to sports or speech practice or something you do to pad your resume, and work hard at a frivolous activity for X hours.

Once the practice is over, you run to your house to do the X hours of homework you have to do for those same classes that you spent X hours suffering through earlier that day.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

You work on a project and hurry to turn it in before an arbitrary deadline.

You finally turn it all in or get it done, and go off to do the nightly routine.

And as you lay your head down to your pillow, you set your alarm to that same time as every other night, like winding the clock backwards 24 hours to repeat what you just did once again.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

How much time was your time. When did you make your own choices?

I ask again:

How free are you?

I ask you,


Who’s gonna be a prophet when we bought them all out?

God I saw your prophet at that festival
I think they bought him up a house on the Western Coast

Who Want It

I see men speaking of love and they’re speaking of god
But when those profits are to low they’re on that radio dial

Who Want It
You Get It

There’s static in their melodies, some are moving backwards,
You ain’t making breakups songs? You ain’t moving to Calabasas

What you thought you were making change?
Music about the money in the long run never pays

Who’s gonna be the ‘man’ when the money runs out,
Who’s gonna be a prophet when we bought them all out,
You’re gonna buy those Jordans with that Nike swoosh?

I may never be a prophet but at least I ain’t you

Who Want It

I ask you,

Who’s gonna be a prophet man we bought them all out


We Want It

“When will I see you” she breathed,

after a day and one more

“But what of the plans we promised to” she whispered

can a promise not wait a day and one more

“Do you wish I stay idle while you move on shifting plans, for I cannot spend life counting and recounting sands” she questioned

sure I will be of plans in a day and one more

“How do I know, how can you be sure” she sang

because a promise is a promise even after a day and one more

“Then I will wait ‘til you’re back and your ship hits the shore” she cried

I will be home after a day and one more

The woman stayed still for a day and one more,
but the man who took her heart, never took to that shore.
And when hard years later all  men returned from the war,
She still sang that song
“I will love you a day and forevermore”

Ama the monster, an insidious creature of torture and despair,
sings in her lair of misdirection and good intentions.
And one day Ama wakes up to find herself carrying a child, a ****** mother is she.
Ama gives birth to Suzy, and lets the newborn walk the Earth.

Suzy, let rest upon your lap
the mourner’s fatigue, for whilst it brings but pain upon his shoulders to bear,
to your grasp beholds only a wholly indifference.
And Suzy Suzy, when you see the man walk weak,
offer your services for only a final home does he seek.

I sit, the car radio playing a tune of static,
Suzy my old friend on my passenger side, humming along.
Soon I begin to argue with Suzy, of love and life and where I went wrong.

As we drive I know not where we go, but only that we must make it there.

Suzy told me I’d hate it when we make it there.
I hope to prove Suzy wrong.