vessel…

these are not
my emotions
this anger
and fear
is older than
my years
upon this earth
it is the taste
of dried blood
and the dust
of those once
enslaved
freed by death
to wander with
whatever winds
reach into soul
to reanimate
their words
so their sorrow
and stories
can be retold
these are not
my words
so expect
no apologies
or
absolution
of social sins
the dead
cannot make
such offerings
to the living
they can only
recall the sins
you’ve lived
and
the pain
you’ve bestowed

barabbas …

murderous traitor
count the dead in this nation
how can anyone
that claims that there is a god
crucify the innocent
instead of the beast
do they long to bathe in blood
that of our children
or of those too poor to beg
for their god’s mercy
are silver coins of greed’s realm
worth denying sacred words
will the holy bed
be soiled with the putrid
lies of one man’s lust
or will the faithful remove
each bloody nail from faith’s hands

 

the book of dying 2:10…

without a soul nothing is important
destroying the environment pays good dividends
death of others creatures of earth
man or beast matters so little

 

wearer beware…

there were
oceans
of
dreams
spilling over
my
youthful hours
hours
spent
naively blind
to
to my own
history
and
constrained beliefs
that
social propaganda
applied
to
my
thinking
webs
of
lies
spun
into
history books
and
daily routines
webs
of
deceit
molded
into
invisible
leg irons
lighter
than
air
so
we wearers
were
unaware
of
their presence
but
they
have been
far
more
confining
than
those cast
of
iron
for
if one
controls
the soul
then
there is
no
escape

 

prayer or staged devotion…

after so much
dialogue
about prayer
this
past week
i was wondering
what
aunt bea
thought
about
all this
public
combat
on
religious observances
so
i stopped by
on
my way home
from
work
she said
public prayer
lets folks
know
you
have something
in
common
with them
or
serves
as
a
how great i art
vulgar
marketing ploy
but
private prayer
lets you
have
an uninterrupted conversation
with
the divine
it makes
folks
feel
better
to
have expressed
what
is already known
one thing’s for sure
prayer
for
power
is not
the same
as
the
power
of
prayer

 

tachypsychia…

did you know
that
blood
on
cold pavement
exhales
a
mist
as if
a
soul
is
departing
the
scene
sears
into the mind
like
acid
unforgettable
no
matter
how hard
you
try
that
body
that
soul
lies
before you
on
black pavement
as
you
await
the
ambulance
it’s
in those moments
that
death
becomes real
altering
the course
of
your thoughts
on
the
permanency
of
anything