Poetry

She handed me a Rose
For this ageless vision
For this journey wanted by all
But experienced by few
we were bravely starting over together
kissing the past
But massaging the future
The sky turns gray
Awaiting my death
Like buzzards over a newly dropped carcass
So I must hurry to the goodness
To the warm, fruitful sounds
To the good things that CAN happen to good people
If they wait or live long enough.

We all
Want to pet the lions
And stare into the sun
But unfortunately
Remain chained to the counter as laborers
Particularly the overgrown boys
Who are blind and deaf.

Jivin'
Needs to be watched
Because its magic is its movement
Its shouting at the devil
Over the whispers of the fields
Drifting in the morning air
Desperately fighting
To breathe even once
Before evening comes.

The wild man romps in the attic
We feel his ritual
And the life that it gives
Over the three piece suits
Hairless bodies
And flat faces
Song
Unlocks his cage
If we dare.

In my dreams the wife slayers
Feast on my flesh
And hell is the only exit
In a moment of perfection
I am able to slay them
With misquotes from history
Now I understand
Yet to come
Is the best of all possible worlds.