“Good morning [redacted] high school!   Today we will be preforming our lockdown drill.”
“Please remember it is just a drill.”
Just a drill is what they say as if I’m not practicing what could very well
be the way I die
Just a drill this time but what about next?
You want me to hide in the corner
Quiet as a mouse
The lights turned out
Make it seem like we aren’t there
But we are
We are there
Being hunted
In a place we are meant to learn math
Not how to use a tourniquet
It is just a drill
But it wasn’t drill for other kid
The one who didn’t go home yesterday
The one whose mom is crying?
Maybe the first grader who can’t wear light up shoes
Because he might need to hide
I am not their target practice
If I don’t stand up for my rights
Who will
That’s the thing about my generation
We don’t know when to stand up
We’ve been taught to
Sit down
Be quiet
Paint yourself as the black sleep
It’s just a drill
Until it’s your child.

Tall tales, memories inerradicated,
other worlds
other ways
other times, no other truth, all possible things are;
all impossible things never were,
no matter

all reroes religate the religious use of truth, in
impossible situations,

the truth frees, but this is the beginning, is it not?
This is the first time your mind found a way
into a common legend
of times when all minds spoke one language,

languages are difficult to perfect but first need known
is patience,
fear, known sooner than patience, is wise-being,
the result of the author seeing how a lie
could get out of hand and imagine an
impossible thing for too long a time.

Madness is the first word I learned for this state.
Imogene, who smote her hubby with a hammer,

ha,ha, ha. that real already was written in another
lie I lived through to now.

We sold them, they bought us. We owe nothing.
We earned our keep, and may I say,
with professorial non-chalance, this is the price one pays

when the script calls for attention,
you were about to mention the state we abide in, when
in default mode
mind wandering, not at all mindlessly, very mindifly, I

flee the pun
ish ment no harm, tis the charm of that wheezing old chump,
d'ja tell'em one, did they

survive. It seems most don't. Most of youse used to gititon
gititup gitiover on the other side,

flip the coin
time and chance, one day up, one day down, depends
on do darkness count as day or not

time being related to states of stop,
stop states, as
sleep states, to the fractal degree of hypernation of
indignation, kanyedigit, digial assistence
national notions

did you jump in
we be we be we be
whoa, selah,
balancing factor, at your service.
Where we wish we was...

Although I've served near thirty years,
Achieving rank high as can be.
I still remember first parade,
And sergeant starting feud with me.

We'd shuffled on parade in line,
Still yet to learn to dress our ranks;
Each nervous with anticipation,
While sergeant to the Lord gives thanks.

But now the time for first inspection,
Worried corporal standing nigh,
As sergeant moves on down our line,
Will he, won't he, pass me by?

In those days when just fifteen years
Yet five feet nine and very thin;
Cocky, full of verve and vim,
But not yet having shaved my chin.

So sense my fright when this grown man
With medal ribbons from the War,
Intent it seems on finding fault
Stops, stoops, then gives a roar.

I freeze with horror, sudden shock.
The corporal runs up with his book.
Do you see this? screams sergeant's voice.
A hairy chin, come take a look.

And they do, heads close together.
Both now peering at my chin.
Take his name the Sergeant murmurs,
Thus, I'm noted down for sin.

Black book closes, sergeant passes
And I think 'alright for some'.
But now he's shouting at another;
'Just you wait, I'll tell my mum'.

Weak abs.
I used to mantle mountains.
Now I get high.
Sit most of the day.
I simply bide my time.
Taut back.
A breathing difficulty.
Buy the polish.
Buy the membership.
Build mirror muscles, big.
But your ribs lift.
Your ribs should depress.
Instead.
You may enter a depression.
Induced by lack of oxygen.
*******, and living off
of stale air.
What does this mean, though?
Shine the surface?
Or,
you could penetrate
the basic crust.
What does this mean, though?
I'd rather not enter the thought.
Could you please explain?

I am a drill
A sharp turning drill
I make holes in the ground
With an unstoppable will
I don’t want to break you
Just make a few holes
So that light can shine through
Illuminate more than your nose
If you grant me clearance
I’ll give you more holes
They will puncture dead skin
Drill through old broken bones
Just be not afraid
Though it might hurt a bit
I’m willing to help
For I feel I’m in debt
Later I might explain this in-depth
Are you dying to get free?
Or simply dying
Open your mind
And I will help you see
Together we can be
More than originally you were supposed to be

It's odd how everytime I want to drill the world out I turn my music up higher.

We all stood outside as the building burned away.

Everyone was watching the flames shoot toward the heavens like rockets.

Everyone was watching the bricks crack into pieces, the metal starting to melt, and the windows starting to shatter.

Everyone was watching the building turn to ash.

And I was just watching everyone.

And thinking, "Man, out of all these people, I don't know anyone."

It can get lonely in this world.

Especially when everyone around you is watching a building burn away.

All the while you're burning away on the inside.

You drilled holes on my skin
And peeked at my within.


F.Z.**N

You cain't go back
to yesterday's dawn
by adding another verse
to an old song

When time was by my side
we galloped through the years
Now the time shows and slows
and disappears

"Where has time flown ?"
is but an insult to youthful plea
protagonist to the old
and just echoes in me

While love was delegated ,
regulated , copulated . . .
it became sedimentated ,
heated , then pressurized

It became cold marble
entombed in ways
that now are just
memorried