Hold Fast

The end had a name
and it is forgotten
The end has an end
and it shall be called now

north of it

drifted into form 

a pile of thought like snowflakes

that the cold crafted

with her hard fists
further and further 

into our minds

like blood 

like a golden glove

like a thing that we were given and never wanted.

here 

on the wings of the western

winds 

she wanders into visions;

rusty old vehicles

in vast heaps,
the wastelands of 

a field north of the river's bending.

those tired and retired tools

left behind from forgotten works 

done by dry and calloused hands

with weary faces 

on bitter and miserable days

like this one.

stay the course

the keys are in the ignition

hallelujah bye and bye

it’s ready, set, go

gravel roads lead to simplicity or implicit city

the beaten path is set

it’s a stumbling walk and a guessing game

but in the end i’ll walk in between the line

avoiding the grave, all the same

courageous tears fall to shaking knees

speak heart and listen to it’s beat

as the snare drum traps our mutiny

keeping us in line as honesty

pursues freedom and truth

i’ll fly away oh glory

Blasphemy

I speak blasphemy so hot it sizzles
so sexy it curls your toes
I leave behind the old name
that Good Ol' time frame,
to follow the tree hanging
brown skinned baby boy

I jumps over fences and range wide
and the farther I go the clearer
the fog seems
There's a hound on my trail
with keens senses and such,
you know the rest, I won't steal too much.

You see there has been a lie on my tongue
but sometimes lies are truth too
what about you?
Are you a lie too?
I'll just follow the brown skinned tree hanging
baby boy.

mercenary soul

you believe fodder
and garbage
and deadpan.

you eat life upon
exit
as an actor
cloy and off
of stage.

you spit the bones
and shards
of tomorrow's scenes,
on venal thoughts
as a mallet
to the gong.

you drink sorrows
past those lips
like a player,
as a creature
nearest to
it's haunt.

you cast doubt
and dirt
of yesterday's disdain
over walls of conviction
as a cage born
child.

Oh, my mercenary soul!

i believe it still;
Redemption.

threadbare

i
wear
threads
of
patterned
ideation
and
childish
preposition;
warm
hand
stitches
handed
down
worn

the some things that happen

i wan't to wear deep blue
denim overalls like you daddy
big and wide and cool
i want to wear a beard as big like yours
and be big too

some things that happen
like my shadow on the floor
hide my trying to be bigger
like you daddy.
some things that happen
make me cry
like a sore toe
and a big brother

when i'm biggest like you daddy
i'll be bigger than the
some things that happen,
like brothers and toes
and shadows,

won't i daddy?

won't i?