.The storm clouds are my pillows and I drive to the heart of them, wrapped in lightning and rainThe mountains offer me sleep, quiet, dark, and their dim music beats on my ears like the drums of the distant pastAnd as I blink in and out I let my face hit the window, singing along and forgetting how to hurt for a minute (maybe an eon)The rumbles of the thunder above and beneath me are clean and comfort, blankets in clouds and the miles rolling bySleep descends and I am not safe, but sheltered through Kansas and Boston, through the journey and the rush of the raindrops a hair's breadth from my eyes
PSATo whoever reads these words, remember them. Read them silently, read them aloud, repeat them until you can see them permanently burned into the backs of your eyelids and they become your mantra:There is always hope.In the worst places and the darkest times, there is still hope. No storm cloud on the planet is immune to stars or sunlight peeking through. Every cave has an exit, every night gives way to daybreak, and every demon can be beaten down.As the roaring wildfire must always give way to the gentle rain, so too does despair inevitably sputter and die in the face of hope. Until its cataclysmic dying day, this world will always contain hope. As long as you are alive, there is hope aplenty for tomorrow and all the days after it.Do not forget my words. Do not ignore them, laugh them bitterly away, or let your fear overcome them. I speak of a simple truth that should never be forgotten.The one thing all our heroes have in common is that when everything falls apart and the world s
SpentThe silence reverberates in four part timeWhen you realize you're all aloneAnd the snow falls about you to blanket the soundOf you choking upon your own throatIt's over, it's finished; you're spent and betrayedYou just want to lie down, get some restSo you curl up your body like dead spider legsAnd the gentle snow takes you to sleep.
CoinsGolden leaves float to the water's surface, coins for the dead.May they find safe passage to the worlds beyond.
SharptongueSharp tongue,burning wit,speak the piercing truth.Wound with words and deadly gaze -unstoppable, uncouth.Forgotten skeletons laid bare,shot with vicious voice;fire in the soul and heartto cut down needless noise.
MidwinterChill in the midwinter air,dark is the night skyHeavy clouds above reflectthe fire in your eyesTread across the icy groundas North Wind softly sighsGiant's bones will hide youin the mountain's sheltered lie
AloneI look aroundI see peopleYet I'm aloneAlways.
About WallsIn human history,when a wall falls somewhere,then somewhere else,silently is growing another one.
When They ComeWhen They ComeThose men on horses and dragonsThose men of vile heartsThose legions of darknessWhen They ComeTheir armies will marchTheir numbers will swellTheir horns will blazeWhen They ComeThey will pillage and burnThey will enslave and rapeThey will murder and conquerWhen They ComeWe will fightWe will defendWe will die
moontwo sides to me,one shining bright,and one you'll never see.
Morphine DaysSepia world, barnstorming, brainstorming, building up, looking outOf dusty cracked windows to see it all happen, now, again, boldInto the empty yellowed skulls piled up around the old churchOnly on morphine days, though, when we fall out of graceGod, look at the crows, how many pilot their way across the skyObscene noises through the dust, shitting on old rusted machineryAbandoned throughout dried-up, smashed-down stalks of cornHere, to the left, the foundation of a house that no longer existsThere were good days here, once, weren’t there? Maybe not…
Installation PieceIron thorns push through skin, I’m part of an installation pieceFlesh and bone, metal and stone, electronicsWheeled in on a cot, phones for eyesThat never ringBut I see how they look at me; (they’re thinking)How lonely it must be to slowly die aloneThey smile anyway, good at faking itAfter all, it’s their jobOne day the artist will be able to push a button, and I’ll spinMy speaker-mouth will sing about snowOnly one more push allowedAnd I’ll spin into spaceMy last human thought will not be of you, but of us, togetherSitting in the cold morning, coffee and cigarettesBack before they began assembling usOne at a timefor departure
little thingsglint of eyes,sound in the epiglottis,a fidgeting footand lips twitchingdemarcations and denotations of meaningrhythms and complexities, playingmommy and daddy make babiesbut the little things make life.