Half-lives

We swim, her and I, in blue ocean waters.

Even in this lush paradise, the water is cold,

And we shiver, our teeth chatter,

As the sun shines above.

The sun is falling, the day slipping past,

And the loss and dreams of our hearts

Glow in their half-lives, dimming radiance,

As wat comes around again, humanities

Original sin.

The waters are deep, and the ocean

And the sky become one on the horizon.

We stop shivering because we become used to the cold.

The waters of the ocean and the water of the womb

Only birthed the fires of the sun,

The flames of perdition welcomed by men.

Sleep

No sleep again.

A women’s voice,

Singing in the darkness.

I feel someone close,

If only in a memory,

If only in a sense of loss.

The Ghost of The Little Girl

Tell me, about the ghost of the little girl in your house.

How you’d hear her laughter in summer mornings.

Feel her warmth in the sunbeams.

Tell me, how in the dark of winter mornings,

You could feel her benine and curious eyes watching,

Taking in the solace of the night, the world not hers.

Tell me all of that, for winter is too warm to bear,

And the remnants of innocence burn in bonfires,

And I need to believe that the spirit remains.

The Butcher’s Daughter

The butcher’s daughter, an angel,

For the lamb’s blood feed even angels

And the innocent dandelion.

The indigo sky, like blue water,

Washes away the colors of sunset,

The blood on the killing floor.

Her wide brimmed hat, long hair,

Hide sad eyes; though angel,

She is born of blood and death.

Perhaps a storm comes tonight,

But not a flood to cleanse the world.

The blood in the sky comes every night.

Guardian Angel

My guardian angel came in my darkest hour, my emptiest moment, as they must.

She touched my face, as I was in darkness and slipping away and between the worlds.

She touched my face.

As morning came, and the poison sweated out, and the weak December sun rose, shining through the blinds

She told me there was no more excuses left for not being better and kind.

The flaming sword had taken my own head, and left ashes.

I look into her face, in white washed out morning light, and I see who I was always supposed to be.

I had cut off the angels wings I had been born with, to purchase the devil’s fire, a show of force.

It had burned all innocence away.

She touches my face, holds my cold hand in her warm one.

Little nubbins of wings grow from wounds, she leads me back.

Innocence is only real after it is sacrificed.

I look at her face, and see what I can be again.

The Fires

The young woman lights a cigarette, thin and white and imported,

As she stands outside the busy restaurant, seemingly peaceful as

The loud and tuneless music pumps like an angry heartbeat into the

Cold December night.

The young woman, in black and stylish clothes, takes a drag,

And exhales a stream of smoke, her eyes veiled as they look

On down the street, and some angel coming towards,

Promising her the good shit, but never coming through.

She turns then, and walks away, leaving the loud music,

That demonic heart that only pumps blood into sharp pricks,

And taking drags from the cigarette that keeps hunger at bay,

She disappears into the sickly gold of streetlights.

After she is gone, I walk to filthy black river that runs

Through the heart of the city, and see a skin and bone coyote

Scavenging through an unsecured trash can he has knocked over.

We ate the forests and the mountains, and now the fires are eating us.

A Tender Song

One night, we got one more night, before the war.

A tender song, the one we said we’d play at our wedding,

When we still had hope for the future, that there was time

To build a life together.

We slow dance, like awkward kids at prom, just holding close

And swaying to the slow beat, exchanging soft, chaste kisses.

Cherishing ever quiet moment we have left, any good times.

No child will come from us as all the forests burn and are lost.

I lift up your hand, and you spin around, and laugh so sweetly.

If heaven ever came close to this rotten and evil fucking world,

It is in the quiet and tender moments with you, in a darkened night,

When love can grow and pierce our hearts, as the fires come our way.

Imperial Gardens

Do you ever dream of heaven, still,

Even as all the sanctuaries and holy books

Are emptied of love and grace, any tenderness, or kindness?

Is it, as it always, a kind of love, a hopeless devotion

To a young woman lost to the darkness and violence

Of this shitty and evil world, that always steals innocence?

Imperial gardens bloom as sweet, as the wild dandelions

Beyond the gates, and the thorns on the roses draw blood,

In these gardens or in wild tangles in the unspoiled forests.

She was kind and gentle, like I was supposed to be all along,

The sweet one, the devout one, left out by her sister’s,

Left to the comfort and silence of the candle lit chapel.

Across the years and the wars and the holy men

In my own nation carrying guns and golden crosses,

I see what a simple and gentle heart can grow with faith.

I dream of that candle lit chapel, of her in fervent prayer,

And dream of joining her in devotional and supplication,

Of afterwards walking hand in hand of her in Eden’s restored gardens.

And I wake up to the same awful world where holy men

Crush the weak under their heels, and pried themselves

On their violence and willingness to kill.

And so many “Good Ones” excuse it, and look away.

I hold onto her, and her faith and kindness, in dark days.

The fear and hatred eat me alive, as war drums beat on.

I want to hold her hand in heaven, and leave pain behind.

It’s Christmas Time

The cold morning, semester over, all the young people leaving.

It’s Christmas time, songs of good cheer, all the bright and candied lights.

They say God is born and one of us, but his cult has blood on its hands, and the hunger for more in its belly.

I meet her at James Agee Park, as the sky turns dark purple, then ruddy red.

We sit on a bench, we talk, we hold hands, and we kiss.

Love, they say, defies death and cruelty, but how many of God’s unwanted children have died clutching their cherished ones?

Christmas time is her favorite part of the year.

She wants me to meet her family. She wants me to become part of it.

The sky grows brighter, we hold each other tight.

Will our dreams be crushed by the war?

Siren In The Night

The blue waters are black in the night,

Crashing in the silvery moonlight,

The distant and ancient stars doing nothing

The depths so far below.

Red wine, spinning head, a heart raw with loneliness.

On these cooling sands, in emptiness in uncertain times,

I hear her calling, where the breakers crash,

Calling me back into the lightless and cold depths.

A kiss, when I was going under, a kiss of peace,

A kiss of all consciousness and fear slipping away.

I made it back to shore, she didn’t take me under.

Yet she calls and calls. She will always welcome me.

Tears run down my face, the chill makes me shake.

I am afraid, I am so tired, and she knows, always knows.

I listen to hear, and she’s as patient as all infernal things.

I just want to slip away tonight. I never want to be afraid again.

I hea