top of page

Water In My Hand

taking time in median
watching from my vantage
safe enclosed a rocking train
bliss leaving me enraged

who am i to combat
the resonant and weeping air
who was it that I preferred would come back

with clover so green

and roses all in their yellow

but prick my finger right down to the bone
so white

we twisted right the angle
battened down our salty eyes
sharpened every pigment
we sawed apart the cage

like threads of smoke we're rising
soon to blacken out the sun
and all the while eating our own chaos

through stories pointless poetry
and wicked smiles, oh so beautiful
this heritage collapsing in the ebbing tide

my voice is not a sun, a bastard resonance

lifetimes wandering in the dark
its only particles driven by storm fronts

stacking clouds upon your
mountainous character
and sometimes it’s just like water in my hand

better swallow it before it all slips away
and sometimes it’s just a stone that i throw

ripples broadening into one crashing wave

and I know, we all know, its all ashes, blood, and bone
where I go, we all go, it's all ashes, blood, and bone
and I know, we all know, beneath mortar brick and stone

bottom of page