Will the people I get ****** with
Put stones on my grave
When the masses decide to stone me
Will they laugh or turn away
When there’s roaches in the kitchen
And not in the ash try
Will they look for someone better
Or will they stick with me till it’s okay

If I were a stone
I would not believe
that the medow
looks after the rose.
To be hardened
is to be muted.
Any stone that
does not tumble
will not shine.
The truth is that
freedom comes from
aching hearts,
and full moons.
Lonely roses hidden
behind tall blades
of grass.
It's so good
to see you thrive
where you thought
you might not
have survived.

Rap at those enraptured under fears of the bacterial,
as children try discerning ethereal from material.

Drowning in the oceans of history, since repeating
these anachronisms trumpeted a fracture fed imperial.

Curse the brittle bones encroaching faster by the minute,
while the sinners broaching laughter couch a ghost within a cynic.

Living flesh against a ghost.
Spoken word against it's host
Who's the zombie here,
between a thread of hope and varicose?

Who's to know the line approached?

Serve the rabble in our throats?

Turn the table in our notes.

Learn the fables from the jokes.

Maybe
I won't speak again
Once I cast this stone,

I'll leave
This whole train of thought
To a lost memory.

Feeding this enemy;
In enmity we may conquer
Anew our identity,

But I need you to resist,
For strength grows in anger
Despite the fatality.

Every Autumn, the sky a little more to stone belongs,
The immovable strata of deciduous columnar clouds,
Every leaf that falls, Rome a little more to earth’s heart recalls.

train with
crushed stone rumbles:

power
   plant chimney
      warns
         of flight
                                      too far
complicated
   i’m hooked
     with thoughts

As I ride my bicycle,
Its wheel going a dull dum-dum-dum
on the veranda tiles.
I hearken to the straining of
the bicycle chain
and screeching o so soft when I turn the steering.
I feel as though something is changing in me.
A light cool breeze enters my chest,
expanding, releasing, expanding, releasing.
As I listen to the endless melodies of the stone tile,
I feel as though something is changing in me.
As I hear the faint yawn of the wheels,
I feel cracking, twisting, shedding,
and I realize,
the work of the bicycle and tile.

                                                                   -storm-

Wounded by one
same stone
crying in many tones!