out of stillness

Created by a passion, shaped by forces both seen and unseen, driven by wind, confined to earth, dialed into feelings, fine-tuned by the moon and a heartbeat, enlivened by sun, roaring with water, beaming light and then darkness, laughing, conflicted, now humming with purpose, now drowned in thought… i become, out of stillness, and come to you. We are lucky, my dear, to appear on scene.

killer.7

how powerless
modern life has made us
giving us all that we want

we take up guns
and knives and
our personal
weapons of mass
destruction

then we
RAN
to the
NRA

for caliber
for freedom
to bear arms
to feel powerful
in the face of
burglary
assault
accosted
by fear

and what has become
of us?

consumers
victims

hunters
hunted
how

power

less

overanalysis alice

i had fallen and where i fell
gave way to my falling deeper and

further than i had fallen before

not even the ground wished
to break me when her voice

echoed down from a height

you can stop right there! 

you must have no fear!

underanalysis alice

overlooking the situation
from above. gleefully
ignorant
 i was still falling
alongside her lies
not even cleavage city
could make up for her
intolerable delivery
the lack of depth
(would be my final)
perception

backbone

The undertrodden emanated their working-class, fourth world-conditioned, immigration-legislated soul ache with great-but-silenced lamentations, all of which gathered into a spine of neurotic knots that together once formed the backbone of the greatest economic powerhouse this side of the free worldthough hardly a footnote in the credits.

be fierce

Dispassionately you were chosen and not for the content of your character. A pawn in somebody’s game, only the game was life. Gunpowder they packed beneath you while you were sleeping. They didn’t care you were real. And when they blew you to smithereens, they discovered they were the ones who were dying, inside.
Pretty soon you would recognize the injustice, when you got done crying and feeling bad about it all. You awaken from the nightmare to realize that though your feelings were hurt, your true character was undamaged. You were whole. Your real friends came over with donuts and coffee, and knives to throw at the wall. And you tore it up together like always before, hanging out like nothing had happened.
Stashed in a pocket of pixels deep in your eyes, the memory remained, to remind you of human nature and how awful they can be. So you can keep yourself safe and be fierce when your character may be called into question. And when you see the injustice being concocted against others, you look out for them. You warn and defend them the best that you can, recalling how it happened to you. Always realizing, in the end, the dirt will come out in the wash.