Thursday, July 22, 2010
Throwing Stones, Skipping Stones [Pt 2]
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Throwing Stones, Skipping Stones [Pt 1]
If this is just a thought
Don’t mean it, do not take another breath
This is your son’s war in a situation that you unabashfully created
He will follow the path of (you) the phantom for his whole life
This is your son’s battle cry in this war that you volunteered him for
No one in their right mind knowingly wants to run head first into a firing squad
But you cannot navigate in an ocean with a thousand starless nights
So, from land to water to land and back again until the barrels are empty and the rashins gone
If this mutiny is just a thought
Do not touch her.
Do not take another breath.
Do not try to pry the captain’s hands from this ship.
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To the Reckless
Safety was not his first thought
“This shell is uncomfortable, I will break through to get what I want from you”
God forbid you disappoint him
“It isn’t the same with this plastic cocoon”
“I know what you want baby, and I respect it too, but I need you to do this for me to know that I want you. I love you.”
Word vomit, letters that do not make sense
But the phrasing and pacing of assurance…so much so that it doesn’t even make Peter sink.
(He does not care)
And this will be his seventh Grammy alone this year.
Congratulations are the wedding dresses to a consolation prize in her eyes of an action like a black man in the 1960’s- free and dreaming and alive.
She used to not believe in hand outs but the public health services prove to be more than useless gifts
As the needles broke her skin and blood vials spin and she sits in the waiting room alone as the sweating begins
The thoughts are loud enough to be an Imax theatre. 3-d. In high-definition. Everyone wondering what was on whose lips they exchanged a bit more than they probably should have gave.
So cut the set belts out of your automobiles and do anything and everything to make you feel the best, clog the holes in drowning ships with bundles of sticks
Sunroofs are useless in a steady rain; recklessness is best kept as a saline drip.
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To the Man that is a father, who is not a Father
I am her father.
I am a ghost…
I am the spirit in her house
I am the creek in her bed that grows louder as she fails to get prouder
And the boys that are in step with the noise grow older and so much border
What actions this sort of prince charming courage employs,
Is the exact same selfish flame that gave me what I need to leave her frozen in place
I am her father.
I am the walking dead.
I am a ghost.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
christianity done gone stupidly
So my friend handed me a fake million dollar bill that someone at her work had been handed by a costumer. I turned it over and read this: