(for there are still lights to be brought out)

With the passing of each step
The crickets halt
Never knowing what's in store
Never knowing I swore for more
But poor wars start tours of lore
And terror

Of time
(and it's error)

For we are here again at this familiar junction to be

Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat
Steps one through three
Thus, there must be triadic harmony
Within the changing of leaves
I have yet to see

So await upon me to convert doubt
Alas, there are some words that must be sought out

(while there is still a tongue within my side-ways mouth)

wordlessworld

I borrowed this body from a Folgers can
Full of cigarette-butts, showing a dis-colored man
Wandering in a caffeinated confusion
Listening to the way blood boils in Tucson
He, like I, got used to it
But I never wanted this or that or those
For I am not the writer of this story
And perhaps that's why it's so boring
With the clicks of their finger-tips
I hear the death of conversation
With the chapped lips of of a realist
I sing out the lament of a nation

We ain't what we used to not be.

For a while
For the time being
So damned slow
Molasses minutes
And hours that aren't our's
Shaking hands with seconds
On a poker-face-clock

So be it
Until then
When now
Somehow spent
Allowance on admittance
With nothing to show for it

Clogged cogs
Cracked gears
There is no such thing
As perpetual motion

Hiss

He awoke under feet of loam
No longer tired
Older than before
All of God's truth lived in the trees
Because there's someone cursing about him
But still no sign of wind
A fathomless gray
A flowerless grave
A finding of solace by the road unpaved

Hearse

She awoke with a lump in her throat
Uninspired
Colder than before
All of God's bitterness came in with the breeze
Because there's something crossing in those winds
But still no sign of him
A windowless pane
A widow in pain
A winding feeling going down the drain