The Royal We

We will step out of the front door
into a new city, out of the heat
that has become this place;
then past the flickering lights of the skyline,
we will sleep in the hills at some new height
and wait.

What an animal a place can be,
how it can eat at your mind.
We need a place whose heart isn't gluttoneous with control,
and if we can pause this infinite loop of take and take,
perhaps something new will become of us.

This is my most fond hope, to become a new us,
to find a place where our roots may accually thrive.
That's it I guess, I long to thrive with you.

We may change our names or quit drinking coffee,
well maybe you'll quit drinking coffee.
I already gave up cigarettes.

Tutoring/Saving The World

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War Contagious

Land avoids the littered sight
of restless horizons and bitter night.
We remnants of a long-lost race
of Phoenician's blood, sea, talk, and taste.

Would that the old dregs would etch themselves
on an ancient tongue that speaks so well
and soft around the stunted point
which juts about the tenon joint.

We are a sweet sugar wind but dirge-center born.
We know the selves that wage such wars,
but come too slow to judge the haste
of easy motives with most grievous weight.

What a blind form of man we are to forget our crutch
and blend our love with chance regret. We bleed enough.

The Farmer Digging

The exhausted land,
tart with drought
and rough with age,
attempts only a fleeting resistance.

Stomp the spade,
hoist the rubble,
and unload the refuse
until my hands dream of work;
 my nights deny me rest.

I strive to cull my wife’s audible sighs,
to crop her barren assurances.

I am not some new root
that has yet to traverse the seasons;
for I’ve borne them as the land:
One by slowly one.

The breadth of my reign
is but an insignificant plot:
the measure of one hand to the other,
and I must rekindle this calloused will
until I die,
only to fall back to the same tired earth.

No Name #4

:I've seen the worst of me swallow smoke and breathe it out onto believers.

:The heavy ship of man sputters, shakes, then falls into the sea.

:I've felt the itch of death and come away with something else,
reeling in borrowed light.

:Is this some redeemable darkness that has raised its quick finger at the base of my spine?