Where the seasons grow and then dissipate

Where the seasons grow and then dissipate

Expanding, contracting liminal state

To the sound of the lonely violin,

where did you travel to, where have you been?

Did you take a trip to the foreign east?

Or else is the hole-in-the-wall your home?

The closet with the naked light bulb beast

Caligula was the best man for Rome

He, at least, was clearly present for them

You were too busy with your face in th'rim

You were locked away to forget the past

As if this instant was your very last

The wind blowing and world turning

Stumbling home where the light bulb's still burning.

His cold face of glass

His cold face of glass

froze the world with its stare

unaware of the foreboding collapse

perhaps his eyes are sewed shut

he is Nicholas II

and every bourgeois ass

he is imperialism at its peak

Man's potential at a point of no return

burn the ember deep within

with an arsonist's light touch

much to the disdain of Mr. Green

mean son of a bitch. That man

is Nicholas II

or perhaps too much credit...

The rock throws of Mexicans over a fence

Mubarak on his knees

shattered man at his limit,

at the edge.

If the Grand Canyon is beauty

it's safe to say

it has nothing to do with broken man.

The sky bleeds gray

The sky bleeds gray against the window panes

The tip-tap beat of a slowly lessening heart

The pounding pebbles start

To fall like stars from the sky

The rains never cease

As Grandma knits, she soaks up the days

Blankets grow

Floods flow

I grow

Knife pulls from a crying sky

Times pass

Wounds scar

And the sun shines through.

On the cusp of winter

On the cusp of winter is bitter cold

still giving in to Earth's machinations

spin, spin spiraling 'round makes me dizzy

the constant wandering's aging me old

Not only I but all the lost nations

struggle for a task t'keep themselves busy

because the water wells think to go dry

some need a distraction t'finally die

In a mind barren, a frigid desert

seldom do the just get their just dessert

I am the Holocaust, I am Plato

Everything I am has led to now

I am MLK and rabid NATO

I am the cusp of winter, here is my bow.

She is degraded

She is degraded

Taught me so much in the afternoon sun

Beneath the clouds and pollution

We can’t even keep our girl clean

Orphaned from the moment of her birth

But now she’s on her knees

Pumped full of what man has to offer

And that’s not much

Compared to any potential.

She is degraded

With no hopes but exploitation

And it’s up across the contours they go

Pillaging for what it’s worth

And that’s not much

In comparison

Because her worth is immeasurable

And the worth of a use and discard

Is a nondegradeable condom.

She is degraded

Because she is a life

And what we do to her we do unto ourselves

The covenant of existence is not ours to make

It was made from birth

Underneath the clouds and the pollution

Soaking in the afternoon sun

It’s too hot for words

As she lays motionless between the sheets.