Come all ye saints, Lay open your soul
let us read
like a book
the message it holds
Sing us the song of our little sin
Give unto Caeser & give once again
Broke down foundation
Marble now humbled
Let it crumble & tumble
& stumblingly bumble
down the highway to hell
work comes from energy outside of us
we may dispense with the delusion
of believing we make it happen.
Come all ye lookers,
hookers, and hounds.
Pray to the sky
as your feet leave the ground
wind sings your song
through a white FEMA flute
When a child builds a sand castle
the sand is not “partnering” with her:
it simply lies dormant and allows her to work
it into the proper form
—adding water if it is too dry,
fitting it into the shape
of a tower here
or a drawbridge there
Free autumn sunset street
shocks & brakes out on the Graham Street Corridor
As far as concepts go,
the walls that've been closing in
are no longer a concept
but now a fact.
Even the trash icon
compacts trash.
For this reason alone
the gurgle of high-octane
Nascar engines
highlight the backgrounded
white noise
A stone slips beneath the surface
of a fake lake
as webbed feet paddle
across rippling fake waves
to investigate.
Finding there only briars
and brambles
and thickets to scramble
He turns his nose up
to the rest of the journey
as an eagle
with a ten foot wingspan
launches
from one side
of the lake
& a Heron
{from the camera}
makes a hasty escape
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