memoriesdried flowers and ticket stubs
in old shoe boxes
waiting to be revived
to open eyes
clips of melodies
repeat in dreams
awakened in sleep
recolections of long ago
finalsStressed about finals week,
walking in a daze along the path home
dates and facts
from history and science
meld together in my head
into and undisinguishable gray-is mass of thought
how the hell am i supposed to pass now?
feara shrill cry
across the ground
onto my hand
as does pain
EchoesForever shall these halls echo,
The ringing is never to cease,
The screams of agony never die,
Though their owners long hence have.
These halls are that of war,
Ringing of fire blasting from rifles,
The screams of those loved and who loved,
Brother, father, friend.
When peace is gained the halls remain empty,
A ringing silence which cannot be endured,
It seems as if we shall scream to break-
The silence of the world.
wormsI entered the police station, the secretary yawned as I greeted her and I asked to speak to the chief. Her yawn grew wider-grotesque- her jaw detached and her chin fell to her chest. Then in a splatter of blood and vomit the worms hit my face. I suddenly see behind the sectary's desk. There on the floor lay the entire police force dead blood staining the tacky grayish carpet. It was one of the last things I'd ever see. I tried to rip the hell-worms off my face but their gelatinous adhesive worked far too well. The last I felt was the worms boring into my skull through my tear ducts.
a day in central parkI meander through the park. As I pass the duck pond a squeal of glee splits the brisk air. An old woman in a gaudy floral head scarf sprinkles crumbs for anxious pigeons. A little boy - under the pretense of innocently skipping stones- aims his throws at a mallard sitting serenely on the chill water. A girl streaks after her brother begging for her doll. The siblings nearly bowl over a pair of lovers holding hands as they stroll, he's probably only treating her this well so she will take him to bed. I gaze, an outsider, and I realize, I hate this place. The friendless old woman wasting a meal on winged rats. The animal assailant, the abusive brother. The couple trying to kill time between copulations. I despise it all. Nothing but a city full of obsequious pretence and fork-tongued lies. Suddenly I feel as though I'm suffocating. I run – sprint – to Grand Central and take the next train to the edge of the city, and spend
Monetarily touching the ground,
Just long enough to get a feel of the emotions of the earth.
Along a glass-smooth pond
Laughing at the water as it gazes raptly
Into pure exhilaration,
Belly brushing the tips of grass
Oh to be a sparrow dancer of the skies
blood red moonBlood red moon
In the dark
cold clear night
dancing to the song of the blood red moon
soaring on the wings of the blood red moon
Tears of laughter
moarning th death of the blood red moon
all life is; is a blood red moon