this one's a story

long ago
there was a boy with golden eyes
and he wandered at heart
until his eyes would shine no more

until he came across a rope that said hang yourself high and let go
and so he did, ignited like a phoenix
death to the traitors
death to their conduits
death to the death march
the hegemon bullshit

life to the visceral and raw
and heaven sent
let's be angels again he said
and when the people laughed at him

he didn't care anymore.

so onward he wrote
getting rid of blockage
blockaids and madness
through all the things that held him underwater to die

and he started swimming
a lot
moving through the water
dodging bears with ease
brand new and full of light

he swam up stream to procreate and tell his great story
and then he was slaughtered by a man on a beach
made to be a beautiful alaskan dinner

made to be a beautiful
and most nourishing
corpse...

the end
=)

this is the one

i see you lack of respect me
we create the game
you're just winning
by playing hard
something that
you have no created

so while we make our new game,
wait for your repairs
and we'll be fixing up another
in the fields of full bloom

yes, we will
resurrect
the deadened
and broken
the muted and gold
the hungry and full
the hearty and whole
the fun loving folks
of good galore
and living in the forest
with bears and beads and birds
and bees who sting but really
they don't hurt a thing
but themselves

when they inject their lives
in your with intent
to harm yourself
and leave them dead

this one is nothing dear, really.

it's time to throw the dice
get our into the rain
starve a little bit
anything she's wearing
can be quickly removed
by a little bit of money
or a sharp pair of slacks
i would be walking with your feet
if i was wearing your understanding
but i'm a size bigger or two
so fuck you.

sorry to the sharks

i know you're dying in the sea

from our human ways

our scary planes

our sexual retreats

go hide in your bedrooms, sharks

deep under the sea

of endless blue and blankets too

be sixteen

i am thirteen, hear me roar

your most unpowerful number

your most feared superstition

someone with a working head

so where is your bed mate tonight

why are all the young girls sleeping

with the mean men tonight?

is this some kind of reversal of roles

unpowerful revision

the kind that is lost

in the editing process

i will not be your boquet of silent, unrest

i will not rot in a cell for your transgressions

think you need to catch a priest

catch a beast of burden

why not someone who is fuckin' up

for sure then?

sometimes, when you have nothing to say, you should shut the fuck up.