I don’t want to be like this.
I don’t want to be present here.
I want no labels south of volumes.
I’ll hear no trite idiom or cliché.
I’ll take rain over shine
So long as it takes me as far from people, politics, and chemistry as anything can be.
I am the son of ideas, not parents.
Call me a god.
The center of the Earth sounds like heaven.
Someone was confused
Too much of Christ’s blood from a contaminated bowl.
Fool.
Sacred places yet to be penetrated with boots or flags.
The virgin of our universe.
I will never care until caring feels right and appears wrong.
Then I will care in far fewer syllables than they do.
I am better.
All hail suits and ties.
Turn and run from storage and stars.
Towering towers and booming voices will be silenced and struck down.
Hammer on wood, screams on drums, and fire on flesh.
Kill anything different, or give it a name.
Same difference?
We are all criminals.
I’d love to be a crime.
I walk a lonely street.
I only wish it less crowded.
I am sick of hearing of shadows.
I will soon tire of love and sunshine.
I want to walk.
I want to walk alone.
Stars, nights, orange lights
Power and nothingness stretch over
I am going to wait.
Words and life pa** through my head.
But I am waiting.
Saints are marching down gravel decorated with wood
Survivors climb and struggle, with large loads to bear.
Enter a house where celebrate mindless souls.
Stroll through forests drenched with the breath of the dead.
Note that conscience will strike you before it flees.
I am a saint, and as you deny
Your angel’s crashing down, soon to die.