i have no desire to stop and smell flowers or tell my friend about the aroma of bread in the morning breeze i have earned the right to just wander off in these unbelievable streets barefoot to squander the last of my life i have no interest in looking for the art in my face or the strength of my wrists i have a need to talk to myself about the world that scorns me and finally be at peace to embrace the underground in solitude
rarely did i see
waves of forgiveness cleanse me
i feel my rest now
RIP MR the world can’t hurt you no more…
we great grand children
acorns plucked from branches
strewn across the roads
on a whim of damnation herself
still in the red we toil
rot away on bended knee
collecting rejection in reusable bags
we cry not for pain anymore
sedated we sit and lay down
to partake in the ruthlessness of abandonment
running from time outside
chased by ruin and stain
deep a vault secrets
tell of themselves
two lights we are
far apart unexplained
Horus sees his eyes
in our face looking
inward by the outward pull
the wax puddle
is cold my thoughts shut
down for the night
i sigh chest tight
radio silent stars
not in the sky
gray clouds instead
look up across ceiling
cobwebs caught in memory
fluttering in preparation
for dreams
words less spoken 