Violent Places
So much easier to hurt than to heal,
These bruised knuckles love soft touch,
My blood does not purify me,
My guilt does not redeem me,
I lay to rest impulses in violent places.
From The Rivers Mouth
I have seen many things
Terrible, awful, beautiful,
Things.
I have felt more than I've seen
I've bled long enough
To know a wound
Like second nature
I watched them build that bridge
I've watched them jump off that bridge
I've seen people crown around my banks
Grasping for a body gone cold
I've felt them drown in me
Most stay with me
Flow with me
Wash out to sea with me
To be caught into a net and into the shore
My sediment in their throat
My water in their lungs
As it is when a person becomes a river
Balancing Act
I cut my feet on this balancing act
Red rivers flow towards the audience
Cups outstretched
To catch a drop or two
A needed drink
To wash me down
What's a show without food?
Voyuer House
My house is a voyeur,
There is no curtains on the windows,
The blinds do not shut,
I can see for miles across the entire valley.
The valley stares back,
My house is a voyuer,
With it's cameras eyes wide and unblinking,
Watching every corner without negligence,
My house, this dead thing, sits and awaits,
On its black tarmac and concrete,
A heatwave turned domestic,
Licking up the walls and doorways,
Lapping up every inch of relief I could beg of it.
