God.

There is hope for a tree that falls,

And we cut down God a long time ago

Only to leave him there

As we wandered about in pride

Cutting down others

As a form of evangelism.

We hadn’t changed

We still put quarters in the machines

Hoping for dimes,

And were short-sighted

Chained to ourselves

And our minds

While

She

become a rose. 

apathy

What is apathy, but a natural response to pressue, to a sense of responsibility-- to the gnawing of the spirit compelling one to accomplish it all, to seize the day, and the resulting desire of vertigo, to fall.
To fall, to say, I can't; I won't, 
'tis to heavy of a burden, I am only part man, part dirt clod, trotting the earth heavily, for our shoulders hold boulders. Yet, we can always carry them together, but that was never our generations thing. Interdependence was a thing of cults and archaic societies, so we chose apathy as the ultimate form of individuality.

The Wasted Days

the wasted days

savage grace

no salvaging or saving

the preacher eulogizes

to the future

and harmonizes a past of certainties

for that’s all we can be certain of

our past

and the collective memories

I guess

that’s our Truth, our Bible. Our love

the moments were all we had,

for the moment.

The Widow

the widow

her eyes carried the rearviews

mirrored perceptions and we all

knew that she wouldn’t live

another year

clearly, she was dislodged from her body

when she heard the news

Knew that her soul would be homeless forever

Until, her lids dropped.

He was a good man.

Train Song.

Brand me a hipster, but never black

For that’s too heavy of a cross to bear

And I never had a choice anyways

So I slide sideways, between the

Color lines and bleed red,

White and blues. But this isn’t

News to You.

Knew that beyond the purview

Of us, there was no justice

Because we would just reincarante

Eachother, and just have more blues to sing

Efterklang, our modern drift

Had the draft of Slyvia Plath’s  baked head

For there were only carcasses in our wake

Up, we ran until our soles bled

Existential dread fed the mouths of babes

Watch us fall out of the zeitgeist

Swerve through purgatory

Middle passage immune system

Systematic theology Calvin

Klein Jeans ran through our

Family tree

Trunkated  wisdom, pulled out

And abandoned in emptied parking lots

Where tricks pull out tracks near the

Train.