the chalk line.

i hope someone sees today it may just wash away.
and this tragic city bleeds, its paved streets misery,
its street lamps flickering, the cars come sputtering.
amidst all the clamor and its own relenting glamor,
people see and people talk. so i draw the line in chalk,
and hope someone sees today before it washes all away.

Left to Stay

It was that day
that I broke away
and sold to fold
and left to stay.
I left to stay.

the remnant of an outlaw. (revised)

maybe you could have told me why
not all my actions have consequences,
and that gravity is just an invisible prison.
or perhaps you could have described to me
how each wrinkle on your face
was actually a scar,
and that time was simply
supplemental to a lacking life.

your fits of anger and tiding rage had reason,
i think, but i suppose
i will never feel that foundation.

they stole your sanity,
and they stole your concern,
and all they left your lonesome self
was a provocation.
subdued and bound in earthly chains
you buried yourself beneath haze,
yet my own memories are not clouded,
not of your view.

i will never know why you saved those years for me
or why i can't let you rest in peace.
the memories continue to loop when i drink
and i begin to realize
i do this more often than i thought.

behind that fragile shell
cased in bigotry and malice
was a man i still have yet to become,
but come soon.

they say your heart faded fourteen years
preceding your body.
i wonder if they will say the same for me.

this heart runs on steam

here i found i feel volatile again
my heart runs just as a steam train
so pour it in with what's in reach
to keep it running you fill the breach

but that void's hunger will never end
the heat always burn every friend
that get too close once let in
that get too close once let in

because this heart runs on steam
this heart runs on steam

the engine races without looking back
dragging the train down that track
picking up its pace and falling apart
headed to an ending that didn't start

here i found i feel volatile again
the heat always burn every friend
that get too close once let in
that get too close once let in

because this heart runs on steam
this heart runs on steam

the heat always burn every friend
but that void's hunger will never end
you got too close once let in
you got too close once let in

because this heart runs on steam
this heart runs on steam

nothing to say.

there are those nights when the words
begin to flow right through me
and i'm too drunk to write them down
or too tired to remember
and too lazy to care.
there are nights when i have nothing to say at all
and there are days that i'm carried
from one to the next
on nothing but words i should've said.
we're told if we have nothing good to say,
then say nothing at all.
it would seem that over time
this is the only lesson i might ever really learn.
so i'll just keep my goddamn, self-punctuated mouth shut.

a waking life. (revised)

in a waking life
you see the sun set and
you rise in the early hours
to hapless moments
measured in clock-ins
and coffee machine coffee breaks, and
Monopoly money paychecks
and empty smiles from co-workers
with four kids,
lemon cars,
disability, diabetes and cancer,
and two mortgages,
and cats that eat only table scraps, and
none of them know
why they persist

you work your way to the top,
reminiscence about the good-ol'-days,
take out student loans,
date a few pretty girls,
and hunker down to a homely place,
and buy yourself a quaint, little house
on the good side of town
where you can share years
of marriage, and maybe
some children of your own
that will go to your childhood school
with those favored teachers you still recall,
where you can become a part of the PTA
and bitch about taxes,
about foreign trade and immigration,
about oil, global warming and traffic,
about family and friends, and bank loans,
about big business, Darfur and BP,
about the kids who throw rocks in your yard,
about God, government, and the whole world twice over,
you can complain about the meat from the supermarket,
and how they're teaching your kids,
and who's running for president,
and where they're building the newest mini-mall,
and when your boss promises to get you that raise,
and why everyone thinks your DUI was a big deal,
and what your ex-wife got in the fucking divorce

and then in a waking life
you see your son set in
motion absolutely everything
you never wanted for yourself,
but couldn't think to ever prevent.

Life Here Anymore (You Won't Find)

It's no secret that you're plastic fake,
and all your mistakes and all your hate
reveal the weight of all my options
where caution and fate renegotiate,
yet never hold true, 'cause it's the me
that can see right through the you,
you want to retry, you want to undo,
'cause all you're really hoping for
is an almost forgotten life to restore,
but you won't find one here anymore,
no, you won't find that life here anymore.

Your heart begins to swell, this is hell,
no matter what you say or what they tell
it's as good as it gets, the shoe that fits,
keep your wits, and you'll be just find,
or you won't, it was only a matter of time,
something you barely had in the first place,
gone without trace, ghosting a cursed place,
and the look on your face is distraught,
a pain you've felt a lot, and why the hell not?
the little string of lies is all you ever taught,
the string of lies was all your face had taught.

You set in motion something without plan,
without reason, without notion or upper hand,
I stayed in place, and held sure like stone,
you played the race, your true face shown
and held down in disgrace, you can't erase,
but perfect only gets you so far, for so long,
'til everything you have is broken and gone,
promises rang hollow, and I refused to follow,
or give you the slightest hope to regain ground
lost in pursuit of happiness you may have found,
in the pursuit of whatever you may have found.

So, I'm not afraid to face this all alone,
and I'm damned sure you haven't changed,
haven't grown, or ever had a hope to atone,
so let's pretend we never met, never learned,
never walked away, and never burned each
and every word that was ever in our reach,
let's pretend I never opened up that door,
'cause all that you're really hoping for
is a fucking forsaken life you can restore,
but you won't find one here anymore,
no, you won't find that life here anymore.

Progress

In the beginning,
there was a being,
supreme in all things,
as which there was nothing,
save for himself,
and he was alone,
but he needed man,
as man would soon need him,
so he created mankind,
in his image,
as which there was nothing else,
and he was proud,
so he created laws,
as which there were none,
and man broke his laws,
as he knew they would,
so he created punishment
for breaking his laws,
as which he loved mankind,
and man forgot him,
as which he needed them
and they needed him no longer,
so man created laws,
as which they had none,
and they created punishment,
as which there was none,
and created themselves,
in his image,
and forgot mankind,
and they were proud.

Ratatosk

Atop the tallest tree in the land
abode three unlikely cohorts.
The first was a solemn eagle,
noble in nature,
and proud and handsome,
who sought peace in his provinces.

The second was a rooster,
who, despite his will
to appease his persons
and attend matters as the eagle had,
was known well as the tree serpent.

But it was the third creature
who held the true
dragon's forked tongue
in the mask of a curious rodent.
And the squirrel squandered his days
tormenting his fellow friends
with words of spite
and sowing seeds of doubt.

Malice fed the land
as the fowl had met their match
in Ratatosk.

The Ruling of Cinder and Ash

He held the burning blade high,
Eyes and tongue and iron had feasted well,
Not of Utgard, nor Hel nor Asgard persisted,
Yggdrasil crumbled and scorched to ash,
A pyre was made of the great World Tree
Where a sea of fire smote its limbs
Consuming man, elf and god alike,
From the depths of Niflheim it reached
And left one to rule a world of cinder and ash,
Surtur held the burning blade high.

The Verge of Mount Ararat

All hail the glorious,
victorious, and heroic dead.
All relish in their deeds.
Send them your blessings.
Send them your offerings.
Sing to them songs of pride.
Write of their noble valor.
And then burn the scrolls and tablets
and topple their sacred temples.
Man needs no idols to keep him comfort.

A Leaf from Your Brow

In truth, you tricked,
deceived, influenced; and
consorted with kin
to send them well
on their way,
as Skrymir in kind.

The Serpent Fills the Sky

He reign down from the skies
and splits the earth divide.
Terror fills the swollen streets
as men shamble to defeat.
He is Leviathan. He is god-
monster come reign supreme.
An apostle of fear. The chaos king.
Serpentine doom-bringer of worlds.
He reign down from the skies
and drinks the tiding flood cries.
Horror fills the soon dying lands
amidst seas of prayer and clasped hands.
The serpent fills the skies
and the earth fills the serpent.

We Own the Night

As men on a path
born by a wrath
of unkind virtues not taught;

We set out alone
hopeless to atone
as those come overwrought.

No plan, and no gain
to relinquish our pain,
but will to find what we sought.

With our last breaths
swore by our deaths
no villains will halt how we fought.

But we set in abound
to hold and surround
buildings that annul and ignite.

Our hearts were weighed
upon our parade
to street lamps that may alight.

We sang and marched
leaving us parched,
yet pressed on with our might.

So let us raise toast
to the coming ghosts
of those of us who own the night.

So let us raise toast
to those of us who own the night.