right into the ground.

Angle to the sky

consort with better angels.

The struggle in the mind

makes the flesh weak

and the world want.

There is no Paradise

for the driven.


Hope is discomfort.

Love is losing it all.

The days spent

in quiet contemplation

are all gone.

The clouds finally recede

revealing destiny and shame,

so woefully well equipped

to never get there

and be okay with it.



a cold breeze.

A sea change

heralds in the new revolution.

Dirty bomb philosophies

in place of a righteous fire,

but we don’t choose the time,

or the place,

we must be reactive.


Drenched clean.


I bend my head and whisper

prayers to a whiskey bottle

and when I gaze up in the sky,

I am an animal,

just waiting

on evolution

to catch up with me.


Put it aside for now,

those reservations.

Fear has no place now,

pack up your depressions.

I am a simple flame,

a candle in the winter,

easily snuffed out,

but I’m not gone.

No, not yet.
























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