Knit in my window
are a card game among friends
and a darkened street.

The ukulele-
what could be holding it up
like an acrobat?

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Got something that he didn’t say caught in his throat
tickling back of his mind,
swallowing ice
water, coughing up a storm,
trying to keep calm, keep on catching his breath
blink these things that he’s seen
out like eyelashes.

Be well, you beautiful
woman of mine, sleep
soundly tonight
and still,
rise up
like the sun,
in my arms, or alone.
An the sun still rise, ye rise up.

Attention’s running to an end
and I am wondering if any of them
were ever living to begin with.
Intentions tend to be at odds
between my brain and me.
My God, me and my family
still don’t see eye to eye,
but we still try to be kind.
Tired of turning nice evenings into
a battle of ideologies.
Take the truth to the church,
take the church to the streets,
let them see what it means
to be set free.
Lay my head down at night,
still can’t sleep right,
still see I’m still not living clean.
Never call cause I know
I’m not quite ready to go,
drew a line in the air,
it’s drawing close.
Open another seal
your servant’s standing at attention.

To whom it may concern,

If your ideology was as just as you think it is, why would it need to have that sophisticated mechanism for transmuting the sentence, “please stop, you’re hurting me. I’m a real person too, don’t you see?” into the worst possible kind of abuse; one which must be met with immediate, righteous retaliation?

The sun is shining so bright
we all avert our eyes
cause we are creatures of the night
we sleep by daylight.
If there was nothing to see
we’d see nothing.
We’ve got to be hiding from something.

Oh come, oh come, Immanuel
your children need you to feed them.
While you delay on my account
I hear them crying.
Oh come, oh come, Immanuel
this isn’t freedom.
It’s just my self indulgent game.

If you show
your strength in my weakness
then I must be
your perfect weapon.

Oh, you bring
me strength through your weakness
Stitch closed my conscience
bleeding and broken.

Oh come, oh come Immanuel in the night.
And wake my up before you arrive.

Can you even imagine the feeling of pride that must rise with the scent
and scatter on the wind through the hive mind,
when the order goes out so that everyone bites at the right time,
through a mind segmented like ant’s eyes,
when ants eat an anteater’s corpse?