I live in the wake of every persons death.
I trail behind them
lapping up their sorrow like a mutt by a stream
whose ripples are leaping.
I drink in the hatred spat out by the sinner
by the shadow spinners
by the music makers muse
by the lit end of a fuse
and I bleed them
like they're mine.
I like to hold the mist that rises from the depths of people.
I can feel them in me
moving within me
and then outward like a raven-starbound.
Starbound but tethered like rooftop shingles Read more »
She tries only to hide it--this voice that she has,
for fear of it leaving and falling too fast.
But the language-- it stutters then falls from her lips.
It crawls from the gutter where gladly it sits.
And warned by the watchman and feared by the priest,
her hands have been folded, her gown gently creased.
Now she must wait for her voice to come home,
for nothing frees words like a whispering dome.
I. Let us walk
like blessed children
paced and soundless
still and boundless
let us lie.
II. Let us lie
like joyous children
shod in ribbon
red and singing
let us walk
Silly child. Don't you know? They'd forgotten years ago.
Dry your eyes and hang your coat.
They say their here but your alone.
Silly child. Little girl... bloody eyes and golden curls.
Quietly, you leave the world
Outerspace and smokey swirls.
Silly child. Caught in lies. One more time won't run you dry.
As they leave they said, "goodnight."
but you said, "goodbye." and they never thought twice.
Stars are in the saucepan.
leaping up and staining the ceiling.
The lights are off.
The furnace is speaking.
And you told me you'd be here.
with your bones bent through your flesh
and aluminum eyes reflecting.
But the darkness is small;
Bigger than the house.
When the light became dim,
we noticed the glowing things:
the coldness of our hands
the birds wing in the doorway
our breath against the glass.
Their veins are woven 'round the well
devils got a friend to show the way to hell.
and her smiles wrought with anger
and her voice is paper thin.
But her brown eyes just get bigger
when her head is caving in.
Baggy jeans and narrow stairs.
Bright red lips and cigarettes
and baby girls who left the world
in search of daddys goodnight kiss.
Children stared into the sun
and fried their eyes and burnt their tounges.
My girl is muted, blind and deaf
bones filled with light when theres none left
the sun will set and light the face;
the big wide world-the whole damn place.Read more »
Nobody knows how much she hides
between the lines of her sentances
the cracks in her floorboards
the space under her door.
No one sees her when she slipps away-
gone to dazzle her funny mind with things it likes.
Things that shine.
Things that shine like the words she speaks
the wood she walks on
the doors she leaves open
and the ones that she locks.
Edward Snowdan is a 29 year old former N.S.A employee. He has gained the opinions of many regarding his recent actions which involved revealing the scale on which the U.S. government had been eavesdropping on Americans and people of the world. Some say Snowdan is a criminal-others see his actions to be heroic in their truth. I am among those that view him as a hero.
In a nation where citizens are given certain rights, those rights should be valued not only by the people, but by the government as well. Edward Snowdan, while revealing confidential information to the public, was only acting within the boundarys of the 4th and 5th amendments. These amendments together, protect Americans from unnecessary search and seizure and insure that no man can be convicted of a crime without being tried before a jury. These amendment fully protect Edward Snowdan from prosecution.
In my opinion the 1st amendment, which gives to to Americans the freedom of speech and press, also prove that Snowdan is not a criminal. In the United States of America we are given the freedom to write and say what we feel or know is true. Snowdan did just this when he revealed the information he knew about the government. He felt that the people should know, and therefore, he told them. Read more »
It was once all the same-
no one had a name.
Now the wind chimes only hang
and I've come to hate this place.
The people have been fed
but they hunger for the rest.
Before, they might have guessed
that the holy aren't blessed.
So tell them what you know
'cause you've got to run the show,
but when they've all paid what they owe,
you will have to tell them "no".
It was once all the same-
between the lines of shame.
Now the wind chimes only hang,
but they'll find someone to blame.
Your knuckles are bruised on your right hand because of the fight you had in your mind.
Boney purple lumps hold your fingers together.
Cracks snake along your skin like dried rivers; valleys left by a drought.
You used to wonder how things could appear without any reason for coming.
You used to question everything.
Your questions were ivory but now blotches of are yellow staining them.
Like teeth, they would gnaw on things when they were bored.
Your thoughts left your muscles sore, veins open, and ugly lungs swelling.
You're eyes though, are untouched.
They are the windows through which you show the warmongers in your mind
that no matter how much damage they do,
you will always be standing-stance even fists ready.
Moment pass her
like traffic on a free way.
She stands amidst it, never seeing
never feeling enough
or feeling too much.
Caught between barely standing
and being hurled across her mind.
And this girl;
she cant exactly tell which is worse.
Where art thou, oh seldom found?
Oh homeward bound?
Oh softer ground?
Were can thou seek to find the grave,
when all that's slipping falls away?
When all that's bound is free at last
but never sees what treads on past.
And thou may find in willow weeps,
in trilling songs,
in singing streams.
But thou may search through every night,
and never find their final plight.
She said fetch me a thorn and I'll file it down.
Breathe for the earth cause its pulse is worn out.
Take the questions that fall from your lips when you call
and sever their hearts till their nothing at all.
She said rip pages from words
and tie them to the ground.
Their the children you held, but you must set them down.
So they will sprout legs and then walk on their own
and the silence will eb to a quieter drone.
By the well lies a songbird
not singing her song
for the king of the hilltop
had deemend her
We're in the same vein, you and I.
We have rubble in our brains,
gotta rinse them out every once in a while.
We like to drown, you and I.
between the lines
and the verbs in which
we run from the separation in the air.
Things are solitary
We like to flee from things, you and I,
with the comfort of knowing we're not really leaving anything behind.
Cause there's always that wake behind us;
treading, falling, choking on the past
picking it up and hurling into our minds.
Things tend to fade around here.
I watch them leave. They always do.
(I've grown to depend on that.)
3 am comes quickly, where I'm from.
It races in, breathing heavily
like water rushing into find me.
but you're breathing.
(That's hardly fair, my dear.)
I watch her
putting up her signs.
My mother keeps a tin on her mantle.
It sits among pomanders and dust partials.
Her bright eyes always seem to fall--
Collapsing on hardwood flooring.
Things tend to waver in her house.
Slowing and stopping like ghosts
that find home high
above the hearth.
The birdys had a pretty voice
the side walk had a herring bone smile.
The city wept, the strangers slept.
Things rolled into the isle.
Light ran off and engines coughed,
while speeding round the turn.
Noise petered out and to the ground
the sweet things fell to burn.
The hollow sneers of shifting gears
smoked trough what was good.
When no one looked but theives and crooks
they thought that no one should.
Things slip away.
They drift-these quiet ones.
Slowly between 3 am tears and nice little sunrise lies.
They are actors-everyone of them,
playing with the shadows that fall across their faces
until you mistake them for a trick of the light.
No one really assumes the worst in this happy little world.
Its all fine everythings fine.
No one crys themselves to sleep.
No one tears themselves apart at night. No one dies.
Everythings great. Life is great.
This world swells like thunder.
Rising to drown me-
pushing me under.
When everything's lonely,
the din fades till its gone.
I leave this cruel world
and escape to your arms.
why I've been silenced-
hushed into your hands.
You fit your voice
like a mold to my mind.
You hold me above the
crashing of the tides.
take me far from here.
I've found a shadow;
covers me like thick veneer.
It's lonely were I've been;
Inside the roaring bastion
of my quiet, calming sin.
Mama fell in love with a hobo man--
she put her pretty ring in his old tin can.
Like a queen who loved a pawn and left the king alone,
or a blessed man who left his perch to join the combat zone.
Take the gift and kill the game.
You came undone in the
I feel your cold hand at the edge of the sky.
You've lost a faith that
And where will you stand when you can't find the ground?
The blood of your angle is
I said from the start that you'll fall when you lie,
and then break, and then burn and
I was right.
So you ask me come down and join in your "fun",
when all that I see is just you and your
I've been where you are but the tables are turned.
Now I stand above, as
I have seen all of your faces, but only in the moonlight.
They sing different songs
with language strewn across their lips
like mounds of rubble that piled up quickly.
Each mouth sings, asking me to bless their vowels
and strangle their consonants
because consonants are viewed as too solitary, where they're from.
Strings have been strung over the window in your cell
like the birds that were stretched across the sky.
Music is too pretty, scream your faces as they each ask your hands to do different things.
They hurl shards of letters and punctuation and scribbles and spaces,
Real words, on occasion.
I watch from my perch, blocking the moonlight
until the gap between your teeth fills with doubt and each face is hung and shadowed.
Only now you realize that your songs are only mumbles.
Stunted, and easily hushed into wreckage.
Her shallow wake washes the bird in the cage.
Drowning the freedom it had when it came.
Her hair line is silver her arms vallyed planes.
Her dream, she discovers, is clad in her shame.
She or her fear will soon wane with the moon.
One holds a scythe, the other--a child's red balloon.
Fear's mind is a cavern of comments and sin.
Hidden away where its lit to be dim.
But she holds a light that could free her caged bird
If only she knew how to preach its kind words.
"I see you have a lonely soul...
and your eardrums are clearly tierd of noise.
Your spirit was drawn from the well on the hilltop, ma'am.
Up where your children are singing.
They seem to have lost their minds. I suppose they ran up there to hide.
See that crow up there with'em? Thats the god they pray to.
And I think the rags they're wearing were your curtains.
They've gone wild
and I'm afraid they might start to fade.
But they all have quite pretty voices ma'am.
You must be very proud."
I remember feeling salt in my lungs as I stared at you,
with your silver eyes and ribbon arms.
You were lit with city light and your hands
were bleeding water into the sink.
Remember me for my simple words and simple eyes and simple heart,
and I'll remember your voice.
My dear, I wish you had shown me fire before I fell into the sea,
so every light wouldn't look like a sun.
I get tired of worrying about what'll burn me and
I see death on my way in the morning, some days.
He likes to walk up on the rooftops,
plucking people from the ground with a Shepard's crook.
I used to walk like all the others,
but I've found out that doesn't do much good for them.
My skin is sun bleached and my face is slightly dog-like,
as I flout face up through the city.
I remind myself of a leaf, sometimes.
Unnoticed, and drifting through everyone else.
And I know it sounds strange, my dear, but if strange is a place I passed it a while ago.
As I watch him perching above all them, ranking himself higher than the sun,
I sometimes wonder if maybe,
Death is afraid of me.