Wednesday, November 19, 2003

singing in the past
regrets are left
and vast rests
wet like the blood
starts in my head
outlasts and
still when I am dead
nothing stays the way
it was meant to be
nothing except
the air at night
nothing except
children keep
thoughts sacred
like these
channels dug
by vast hungry armies
walking and leaking
eyes sun set red
in the west
and now its best to
play dead
but I guess but its
time for bed


Sunday, November 16, 2003


they walked in a web
of fusion

drifting about them

nobody could believe it
as they shouted at the water

and rapped on the
muscle of the door

together safe
individually corrupt

15 Nov 2003