I haven’t the words
Nor strength to stand
Any more
Of this illusion
Sealed in spit
And sketched by hand
Our world is done
What courage has man?
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Rorschach Test
Funny, how a song
sung over the years
can seem, so foreign
even to me, with a chorus
not even I can relate to
any longer than it takes
to finish the mornings
cup of coffee, spilled
to form a Rorschach Test
no longer necessary
to indulge or engage,
just enjoying the view
from a bridge overseas.
A Song Once Sung To An Infant Under The Gun.
Today the time ran out
just as it had begun—
Hot water fills the tub
you swore you’d never become—
It’s warm and shallow now
cut servings for only one—
The echo down the hall, well
that’s just yesterdays love—
Now it’s all become a song once sung
to an infant under the gun.
Today the moon refused
to trade place with the sun—
Sidewalks full of people
but still you know only one—
It’s an impossible force
that drags you from yourself—
Now it’s all become a song once sung
to an infant under the gun.
I try, you know I do, to balance
fault lines and faith, the surgeons
steel blade, it draws a bridge between both—
It’s a symphony of simple things
that will seem eclipsed by the sun—
Cause it’s all become a song once sung
to an infant under the gun.
backward or forward
However many backward steps
you take today
tomorrow
take that many steps further along the way
because not everyday is a good one
nor is everyday bad, you see
I knew a man no different than
any other shapeless face
who kept on stepping backward
day after day after week after year
until he’d completely lost his way
you see, an inch becomes a foot
and a foot becomes a mile
it’s backward or forward that separates
the man from the grave.
Words Of An Average White Male 