look before you jumpwhen you're smoking in the backyard
under a crescent,
and you can see the dark side of the moon,
be careful what you say, even when you think you are talking to yourself.
because he's ..... correction: they're listening.
don't ask to be his instrument.
don't recognize your faith (aloud at least)
because if you welcome him up high, you'll be opening your door to him down low as well.
church choirSweet harmonic air swirls
condensed in, conceived in, but not confined to
the stone walls.
Winter whistles on the outside.
Snow falls and rises with the indecisive winds,
tiny white angels dancing by the stained glass
on to a destination unbeknownst to God himself.
The singing echos cavernous:
High voices reach up the carvings and tapestries, running up the tall tower.
Low voices extend their invisible talons up the stone and bronze, crawling up the tall, tall tower.
Eyes to the heavens:
an inspired sceptre that bellows impassioned spells
daddy and seeing"daddy, why do people die?" - "so they can have better dreams."
"daddy, why am I so little?" - "because the world's too big for you."
"daddy, when will I be big enough?" - "when you see that it's a small world."
"daddy, why do people kill people?" - "because they hide from the light."
"daddy, why are the street lights on so early?" - "because the murderers are too."
"daddy, why can't I see God?" - "you will one day, but you are not closing your eyes tight enough yet."
"daddy, when can I close my eyes tight enough?" - "when you are dead sweety."
"but daddy, I don't want to die yet." - "then you must heed the streetlights."
dandelion diligenceonce upon a time there were flowers
there were flowers that didn't live off the blossoms of another
or stomp on or romp with or suck on eachother
they didn't strangle their neighbours to overtake their plot of soil
they didn't grow thorns to protect themselves from over-zealous admirers
or grow roots deep ; connect themselves to life by wires.
once upon a time there were flowers ..
breaking and enteringclimbing vertically,
getting sickly; being so over-cautious makes me aggravatingly nauseous
vertigo is escalating along with me.
im huffing and puffing and grabbing
at branches and roots to alleviate this insane commute.
losing my shoes to bothersome gravity
im getting breathy and its getting breezing (up here)
so very inconvenient
much like your bric
untitledwe barge out of the womb as hungry, empty bodies,
screaming at the white walls,
crying at the smiling faces that beam at us for simply existing.
we eat life up in spoonfuls and sometimes
sometimes we eat too much and we have to make room in our bodies by expelling salty water out of our tear-ducts.
but sometimes we don't eat enough and our stomachs shrink.
do not ignore your hunger
because no one likes to fall asleep with a grumbling stomach.
and you don't want to be dragged through the long tunnel
screaming at the white walls,
with no faces smiling at you
fish out of waterThe sky is falling and her umbrella is getting ready to abandon ship.
But she's too wayward to build a permanent shelter.
She's been caught sleeping on the living room wall three times this week.
She's too alive to sleep horizontally.
She's a fish who refuses to breath the water, because it dreamt it could breath air;
A fish who refuses to use its fins, because it dreamt it had wings.
we planted our flag in fruitless soil,
the fabric waving over the stone-cold gargoyles who lay half under mud, with no head-stone
to remind those left alive to recoil.
proud to raise our colours over barren dirt, crowned with the red gravy,
we marched the empty streets with our sneering military,
no parade to meet us
no open arms to greet us
because aside from hate, there is no passion in rape,
aside from the crumbling buildings and the bullets and the tape, there is nothing left but tyrants on this landscape.
we hijacked the aircraft but we gassed the passengers;
we captured the body but we killed the soul,
we reaped control, but we dropped the gold,
we took the acres unmanned
all just to say "This land is my land. This land is my land."
Stretch marks slither over her skin in shortcake earthquakes.
Boys like stabbing her with their dicks a lot.
Mindy's on crack
And heroin and E and smack.
Her voice is a little rat giving up in the maze because the walls are too tall.
Belle's a bitch
And a snitch and an itch that bleeds when you try to scratch it.
Mark cut open Cindy
and he twisted open Tina
and he marched into Mindy
and he crawled inside of Kristina
and he bit open Belle.
And he found in all of them:
bones, blood, beauty, and a brimming wishing well.