Blood to run in the gutter and ditches, as they trade our eyes our hands our other
loose parts. If the reward of suffering is experience we need know more but it is the only
god whose opinion counts. Still we have but only a narrow window.
People engaged in. Who should never.  Still it was you
taught me the way of the book,
a disrespect for all but the white taking dominion over,  to restrain and muffle.
To be trod upon taking a short path to heaven.
What any of it means to the curious
who I am, who you see, who any to say.  We are

Done.  We are
finished.  But then
what comes next assures the best secrets.
Don't ask me
why.
Consequences you probably never thought of.
Maybe we already got the worst but
we are
not
ready
to
die.

Certainly not by them.
Not yet.

Another day of traditional pursuits but for us

were not.

This day does us no favors.

I asked. I did.

Maybe it's just that no one here can tell us

how to get out.

Another way.

To my old friend Gabriel I said hello. Then crossed my mouth, looked for other company.

Comes another. A name I don't know trys to sell just a book.

Pages flipping.

All the words disappear

under tears come

slowly down.

The radio static sounds the same as when your mouth moves. All again together. 

They are not here to be made of our remnants.  There is no sense to be made of it. No happy home. Could be we start over in another town. But we are this.  One we and not another. 

All the people see it all the same. Us to them. 

No doubt they had supper together      

slowly chewing   

as still talk 

flowed.

As a child the day I knew how to dream it ended.  Soon.  Before any of us could know. 

Some childish creature enabled of dreams til they beat it out of us. They said it was safer this way.

And so I wish you could have been too but 

this day does us no favors.

Shut up I've been
in the gravest dreams, even your nightmares failing to relieve.
If nightfall never came whose fault would that be
and why are you calling me son?
Where you're gone,
what I done.
No.

Really I don't know. And no, the rest will claim us as ours neither.
Walking down that other street and it was only the one,
only we were grey then.  It's another
one for silence when the
shadows herd the sheep.
Listen too.

The problem of us, of all the things we don't know
that I don't either
know how to want.
Not all money in the world could bury this soul less you say so. And then
of course I would do it, because you said so.
But no one worth has anyone else to add to this old thing.
Tattered, stitched, cared not a bit for our resilience.
Like a shadow herding the  sheep

What use a soul, without attached a being, of god's doing?
But perhaps not all believe that, or all the time.
Maybe there, on the other shore.
So still at last we all end up in the grave. Or burnt to ash.

Spilled milk and all that
that is the sad story of man. Of woman once man
allowed her to be.

We have then many houses in a variety of shared reflections.
Things we think to believe, we think to know.
Til then just give me
Just give me one match.  I will burn
the whole down, plus another quarter but only
because you asked me too.

Like an empty frayed kiss.  Intense

talking at a Freudian picnic there are always options. To

 talk to the wrong person too early is one.  

None of it matters but that the sky

grows big when we cry.

There are no more roses on this farm.

Blue

What he said was nothing that he was
blind to the pain of a tree the leaves of which
all dead and felled to the ground
leaving only but
a single naked member.
And twigs.
Then to get ready for bed but it wasn't our fault.
The fault was that we had to
we couldn't not but had to
channel that one other or hurt ourselves.
Always there was room for another so we thought
extending the adventure stories of youth.
Downward driven through the darkness youth.
Up above on the right
we draw our own conclusions.

it has been some
time that is
it is not that i do not
but to the contrary
i do
i write much while
driving my own self company
for when we are not
that is not
enough
there is music
always music
words
always words
that have no relation to me
to my
doings but they are
nonetheless
there
words

Words. We were walking on

The shore. Wet fogged sand packed 
our lips. Now 
we know how Winters 
war wills to Be. Like 
hell 
you Say. Words walking 
from Your mouth. Un 
moving after rigor set in. But 
still We hear. Like the native

Pulse. The suns rays
and even

The rain.