Lady sits in her embroidered favorite chair Bites a lip and fiddles with her long hair Feels a presence a certain unease in the air A foreboding feeling says danger beware As if she is under a gaze an accusing stare And there is nobody there
Tells herself there is no need to be afraid She is no longer a girl in the second grade Dead and gone why won't the memory fade? Told it was not her fault that she stayed Yet she is taken back to where she had laid In the bed that He made
ashes and soot swirling throughout the air, breezes of burned remnants whirling untethered— unbound floating around to finally find a singular quite specifically peculiar home amidst all the painful heartache, bones that will surely rebreak when love's cremated remains.... [remain]
The written write wrote of a tried and rifled, bloodshot and un-atoned home Knowing no said word laid, will rebuild the broken platters of dreams Or defuse the loss from its buried and blurred seams That no passage will portray the endless echoed screams Of the hallowed fight or its flight across the vast and weighted maze The revolted repetition of days That ink is a flawed mirror, a poisoned chalice By which you sink your mouth to drink As you seek to sate your thirst of downed hurts to quick That wavered words rise, from a betrayed and naked...
when i see these wooden beams this wooden trap, those hempen strings, this stuff of nature, these all seem innocuous, such innocent things, when found in Chandler's stores but, make folk dead, and crowds roar- gallows fashioned, by lynch law.