God left us

God left us

or did we leave him

Our bodies no longer

belong to us

and the soil of our

fields lack substance

God left us

in a moment when

we needed him most

we were sacrificed

we were made to suffer

and crawl on our knees

pleading for ‘peans

to value our lives

God left us

to hang from trees

to molest the women and children

to break the man

to scrape the barrel

to feel agony

to be in the news

to be seen as less than

what God left us

He left us

and we left him

All the songs that

were sung in fields

from mother to child

for the men on new roads

and for as long as

it took

to forget God

and where he left us

there has been no change

or resolution

or understanding of why

God left us

and now the trees

have bullet holes

and the fields have

cement walls

and the songs give

praise to money

and we don’t remember

how things were

in the land that God gave us

I see now why

and I can make sense of why

but it still hurts to say why

that when I think of why

my head spins out of control


God left us

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What is the Rare Place?

Never two the same

none ever in the Rare Place

deep and dark like lost woods,

or quiet eyes on Death’s eve.

How to wonder as far as fingertips,

to shut as tightly as innocent ears,


beyond the twinkle of the sea break,


An opening not so wide

just a glimmer of acquiesced satisfaction

for a dreamland of longing.

A softened and yet horrid type of drill

that pierces the back of the neck and

nags down until there is ash dusting

the place where the heart should be.

Come take a look into the black reflection

of a mirror and leap.

There is a burning and no fire

a chase but no hunt

a parasite to no host.

You can open your fists now.

Never two the same

the new and the old

and likewise,

no two can survive in this Rare Place.

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bonded to the bravery

of paperwork stacked

up to my neck

like it was breathing

or gagging

grasping for a moment with air

there’s a sickness among us

and it has no fear

in fact, it has no up

and it has no down

it lacks a face

the worst of the condition

is that it has no hope

where there was once a parade

of satisfied tinglings that well

up inside the belly

now is bound with tape

across the lips

and sucked dry from parasites

this is how good men die

without feelings or thoughts

they just become like bone

and the bone like sand

then on a thursday

when the wind calms the sea

they’ll cry

he never tried

he never worked

woe to his loved ones

as anger shuns their hearts

it makes no difference

how tall the paper gets

in a room of whimpering dogs

who feed off the poor

there is a sickness among us

it walks on sharpened branches

and pierces the tips of fingers

like ice when the frost bites

sweeping and setting trees on fire

it buries the sunset

along with it

no more sleeping in the darkness

what good is that

to close your eyes while the

blackness blinds your vision

why not un-see the day

and the mysteries it holds

for a chance to know

the secrets of the night

from the hands of which

mercy can be bestowed.

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People die because

God didn’t make hearts to be


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The audacity of humans

to build their houses

and stick their flags

into the mountains.

There’s nothing to see here.

You may find some burnt out

trains and pieces gold

or hear whispers in the wind

of ancient stories told.

It’s hard to breathe up top.

Even with confidence

as high as a moose’s back

grace and elegance

is what the pocketbooks lack.

The price doesn’t cover the freedom.

Land of the green leaves

no smoke in the air

only the stench of exclusiveness

rots in the nose of what’s there.

What have we left,

but the crater of man’s footprint

and the windings of tragic roads

imagining they’ll lead to somewhere

a place that arrogance goes.

This belonged to many tribes.

So let the rivers and trees be named

let the honor of what was

stain the memories of romance

and let them haunt with just cause.

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people who talk loud

so that everyone can hear

are not the same as trees

who bloom big so that

everyone can see

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I spoke with my mom for two and a half hours

And I can’t help but wish I had some of that time back,

For me

Music whistles like tiny storms in my ear

There’s a knot in my back where my reasoning used to be


And exactly once,

I showed teeth to the moon

It shown back the smile of the sun

I rejected the atmospheric tune

Why did this anger me so?

I recall,

On a Sunday,

In a field of Queen Anne’s Lace

The v-shaped pattern of birds,

I remembered

That sinking feeling,

Which drags down my face

Why the music was so loud

And why it hurt to believe


There I go,

Thinking I should plan my finale

Imagining my veins are rivers in a body they cannot leave

Thump in the heavens. Thump in the canyons. Thump in the center of raindrops

Things tremble, and they float on,


Not concerned about the earth,

At least until all of that rattling and shaking stops.

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I hope when I’m gone, someone will

think of me

When the rivers dry up

And beginners give up

I miss the smell of your breath after

one or two beers

Those sappy notes clipped on a guitar,

oh that you hear, now that you’re here

We could dance-

you and I-

until the floorboards cracked

I said I’d love you til the groom came back

But we’re wasted and we’re washed

only to love when we aren’t watched

This is the life of sneaky house mice

This is the life of wrong done right

Would you remember me

if I smiled a bit more

if my hair was jet black

would you try to love me a bit more

I’m doing fine now

in a well, I’m not dead yet

but might as well

The truth is I’ve been okay

Living without being wanted,

I imagine you, high, happy and haunted

Don’t leave me here

Living without being wanted,

I imagine you, high, happy and haunted.

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Can you imagine

wanting to die

and someone keeps


for your


and safety

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Use your PTO

In fact, just stop showing up

I’ve already been outta here

The checks haven’t meant much

So my body is for sale

Which would you rather see?

Coochie or titty?

I’m selling both for free

No, I’m taking a mental rest

And I’m using my PTO

This mind is worth a single day

Eight hours worth of pay

This is me taking myself seriously

Sleep on the weekends, they say

But I like to freak on the weekends

This is my precious time

I count down while I unwind

I blink too fast I might die

My peace is shy

Ain’t been around since ’05

I’m using my PTO

No, I’m saving for retirement

Let’s just say I quit before the requirement

To use that time I got hired with

Would it be a scam or a lie if I’m exhausting it?

I’m thinking out loud to myself

Listening to me as if I were someone else

Use your PTO

Use your PTO

Stop worrying about being sick

Make your request and just go

It’s not sleep that you need

Because you can sleep all day on the weekends

Sleep is for the weekends

Close your eyes and let it be-gin

Daydreaming is for the weakest

Pack your bags and f*cking leave it

All behind

There’s nothing left

Clock your time

In and out

I’m not coming back

No more, don’t call me

I’m using my PTO

That is to say

My Personal Time Off

For which there is no limit

Or any calculation in the world

That can ever grasp the true value

Of the most fleeting, non tangible

Arbitrary and nonsensical

Concept of what is personal

To Time

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