I hold you in the breeze of the final moments for regret to have meaning. A silence and a smile we see the birds receded. We make grass angels in late autumn, and fall victim to believing, Then from nothing a note ascends to being
Horn one: no chance for more love, with the horror of choice and windows boarded up, lights off and a court order drawn, they can’t find a job and can’t afford the drugs. What worth is worship when the worse is yet to come, what love could bend the spent rods he sent, It’s the end, but of course it is. I always thought it would’ve come as a friend
Horn two: Porcelain shattered on marble ground with shadows of that all but harmless truth. the conscious truth, the debts aren’t quick but they come with a view, they sort through the things, they bend those clueless strings, and they hope in their life they’ve reincarnated into those suddenly dead kings. And with new hordes come all things such hordes brings.
Horn three: They poison the seeds, a mustard hope crushed by the weeds. The lust, the glutton, the greed. Enough is said when mouths are stitched to speak, “I’ve come with one thing, and that’s the absence of need” thdey’ve etched on a knife that cuts the fruit from trees
Horn five: Angels swarm from side to side, like an ocean of mute ghosts, or bugs in a nest sky. The melting of ground as the horse slowly strides. The violence of man finally subsides. The cowering chance, the merging of time With wrists behind my back, and a head held high & one by one led to the depths of a hell nearby.
Horn six: It is written in sand . With the softness of feather. The sincereness of man. When brought concerns of the father. The hand hovers in air the emblem of a lost heaven. Embalmed in Jesuit honesty that crept in over the emptiness, a husk breathless with palms joined in prayer, the flames die in this endless night, But in the darkness emerges a light
Horn seven: Scorched earth, the lords work plenty. Silence as an end approaches; gentle but menacing. It’s warm with embrace, a choral showering grace A loss of any cowering faceA loss of any power to changeA loss of any fountain to motherA loss of any outer engageA loss of any concept of other. A loss, a loss of any
“I want with a judgeful eye…You crawl into holes in the ground, I howl to a certain god, But another one opens the gates. It lays down the light and the shadows , Into itemized columns and rows, Adding them upwards and down; Instantaneous calculations. Of truth and the others, With dry lips I beg in sacred song, In the never ending desert of the Lord , For a moment it looked at me, indifferent to suffering or anything else, Its face like a grasshopper, And a cloak of weeds growing at the edge of the garden, The thing like a hand almost opens above me, just enough to turn the day into night”
“Alone in a ward, Fluorescent lights flicker while the white paint melts from the walls, The message is strong, The Celtic blanket buried with him had a blessing embalmed, Second to none, The way he held on her last day was a lesson in love, A good man, a bad drunk, A new man, en passant, En haut y en avant, I hold you in my arms, Full of want and fear of loss”
“A flow of tears more eloquent than orators” A court of shadows and a mirror. Through a baptism of loss. What if these monks on holy mountain. Bound by earthly fears. There’s only divinity. And impurity. In a philosophy of illness. Cleanses the sin in me. The taste is so sweet. But when I speak. The bitter site of Calvary. The flavor of the tree. This one heart, The constant prayer. These evil thoughts.”
“There’s a beauty in inconsistence! The places I’ve seen, They are all so connected. Time folds in in in…On itself, tied to to tree at the edge of combination \ The beautiful of this world is a river that drips from heaven. And within each person there is a pool. May the edges of despair find everyone, for that is a part of this earth. A part I feel myself slipping into again. As I am a ghost in a world of connection. But I hold my love up high, up high, up high + a triumph”
“Our prayers burn like candles in the sky. There are no questions left. No salvation in the wreckage. That old hope is a wicked knife. Twisting in chaos, It splinters what’s left. I could’ve held you when the night came, Engulfing the space between us and the sun, There is nothing our love could’ve saved, There is nothing that can be undone, Glow, in the shadow of a fire cast against the walls of your in most self, Glow because he couldn’t, Glow because I can’t.”