11•2•14 2•25•15

Today was supposed to be another day

And how I have made it this far, I can't say

Tiptoeing shoes are still far too loud

I'd really like to be someplace else, perhaps dreaming in a cloud

And today is grey inside and out, Amy I know it's  just for you

Whether kicking or crying, I know you'll make it through

We don't understand why and most never will

But a precious, tender heart, is something never to kill

For Terik, and Hunter, and all the ones still here

I love you, I need you, now life without you, is the only thing I fear

Passive Repressive

Tightly sewn between words spilt from your mouth

And the ones kept dormant with doses of fear

My perspective about the whisperings has been condemned 

The way the eagerness left my spine and slipped out the cracks in my heels has left my jawbones an eerie muted shade of purple 

Interwoven with swelling cyanotic veins I can feel my mouth locking shut

And I let the television characters carry the conversation 

It's quiet

Selma (Freedom assembly post)

Her name was Selma
And she wore 1965 on the INSIDE of her sleeve
Tucked away from the view of the outsiders
But all the locals knew the old patch well enough
Each stitch was stained with their own blood

And Martin Junior loved her so very dearly
But when her father became too handy with the switch
He knew the only place for him was fifty miles down the road

At night, he dreamed of parades
Full of reds and Browns...

Yellows


And dark purples



Bruises and blood puddles
But come morning, he found the papers had published his midnight thoughts
Determined to let the whole world know his thoughts
He made his mind into a printing press
And he slept twelve hours every night

He dreamed dreams of smoke and shields
Guns and guards
But also of pens and paper
With presidential seals as their rosy red cheeks

As the printers ran dry
His vocals became his forefront
And one day, Martin Luther told all of Washington about his dreams
And as the accolades and awareness grew
The resistance become more fierce
Until the day it layed him down cold

But I hear even in heaven, they have telephones
And I'll bet the first thing he did, was give old Selma a call
And tell her about his dream last night
I would bet they talked about how "men like him" didn't fit anymore
And I'll bet he used his every last quarter on that machine

As phone wires turn into cell signals
And marches turn into drives
Our midnight experiences remain unchanged and unhindered
Do not take for granted that which comes in the unconscious

But instead
See what you can do
When you have a dream

Homage.

From behind the window of your cigarette butts
It's hard to focus on the pain
Focus on the pain
Focus on the pain
Focus on the pain

It's so incredibly difficult to place an I.V.
When you have got me waking like this
So please, leave me alone for two minutes
And I can help you for thirty

It's been nearly three months
Too long for anyone to be gone
And three months is most certainly not long enough to build a shrine
Or anything worthy of what he was  IS
Go ahead and try
It will crumble out of self pity

The surrealism fogs my mind
I can vaguely see my clouded judgement
Constructing a casket of its own
Soon to be layed down
The wood is a dark red
The color my fingers turn when I hold on for too long

Absent greetings and shallow eyes compose my state of being
Someone please bring a shovel
And dig out my heart, lungs, and mind, so I will know they are still there
Because I think they died when he did



Forever in my thoughts and heart
11.2.14