I saw a dead person today.

I wish I could sleep but my mind keeps beating me up
Boxing gloves laced with iron thread 'round my head
Hey that rhymed
Shut up mind!
Grrr...
This is going to be all week isn't it.

Greyman

The empty suit, the noose-like tie
The mark of curse inside the eye
His wandering stance and shaking hands
Pacing along the floor

Solicube

there is an insignificance
to its
particular hue
the shading on the edges
lacks definition
light drips reluctantly
through afterthoughts of holes
poked by the pencil lead
of a giant's pencil's head
that air might flow
stale and bitter
into, of course, this lonesome cell
and i
out through those tiny holes
peer cautious with contention
then back to pacing end to end
from wall to wall of dim-lit cube
my feet begrudging every move
to slide more than step
so as not to wear false airs
of naught but suffocation
or any sort of dry determination
painting pictures on the cardboard walls
with blood and dust and contraband hopefulness
portraits of a faint, forgotten smile
that appears to me in dreams
on the rarest of occasions where sleep agrees
to enter the hovel of a lowly dreamer
and i hold the hand once again
before it grows claws
and kiss the mouth once again
before they grow fangs
and talk of love once again
before i let it down
and it led me down here

Four

And there lay five stones on the sandy shore

Their synchronous line from afar masking the variety 

One

     a perfect cube 

     save one chink 

much complicating the corner

somewhat distracting to the eye

Two
     translucent as fog
     smaller than the others
elusive in the white sand
save a single pink blemish

Three
     thin as paper and just as frail
     wide and long as a tall man's hand
crevices call for cracking between the layers
so many layers, so easily dispersed

Five
     smooth as the breeze
     speckled in a thousand shades
across a grey so deep the night forgot itself
and shadows slipped into greener hues

He didn't recall the feel in his calloused old hands

Or which he slipped in his pocket

Or that he had picked up any single one of them

But still he blamed the tailor for the hole

...and the loss.

In America, We Build Our Steeples Out of the Flagpoles

We, the emperors, have no clothes
Anyone who tells you what sin is doesn't know
Anyone who puts themselves up above you
Anyone who finds a "godly" reason not to love you
For we are the facilitators of our own demise
Hell is not so much other people but what we do with them inside our minds
And holy wars are fought every day on city streets
And in the country and the suburbs whenever strangers meet
But I was raised up with the promise that God loves me and you
So when I don't know what I believe, I still believe that much is true

Is the Well Yet Dry

Burning holes in the ground, little circles
Streaking out uneven on the edges, like sunspots
Inverted starlight in the dust of the earth
Five little rings, for five little fingers
Little digging fingers that clasp around the dirt
And set loose upon the sky
Dead soil, barren like your brain of late
Anxious that you're out of time
Before you've even begun
That below the dead earth
Is only more dead earth
And those five little circles
Are the only seeds you've left to sow
Their growth a symptom of
Your idealist intoxication

Wear a Coat

I've been chatting with my nightmares

And they have too much to say

But on the good days of distraction...

I've been skipping through the graveyard

Making lives for the empty names

How it's better with the lights out...

When I escape, when I make my break

When I take no one, and I get away, away, away

In these ill-fitting shoes

I think they've worn me out

These tired sleeves

Hungry for a better heart to wear

I've been scratching at my corner

With pencil marks for the days

Waiting for, I guess, permission...

To escape, to make my break

When I take no one, and I get away, away, away

In this outdated shirt

I think my style's gone stale

These stinking socks

Each hole crying for less calloused feet

What does it matter what I wear

When I'm too scared to go out there

In a world where it may get cold

Who has time to wear a coat

Granite, Concrete, Dirt, or Cobblestone

Pardon me, I'm disillusioned

Why must I be so insecure

Flapping wildly in the wind

A fast food flag flying at half mast

In this old used car, I once again return

Tank on empty, past these granite hillsides

To the home that's no more a home

Than the empty shells along the shore

Pardon me, I'm mass-produced

Clawing for my destiny in puddles of free-will

Riding bikes on crooked, cracking sidewalks

To the park between the marshland and the sea

In this new state-of-mind, I return once again

Heart so heavy, each step a long cliche

To the commonwealth that's no more mine

Than the basement that I leave behind

I went to the stair against my will

And climbed up to the church on the hill

Climbed the hill to the graveyard and felt the tree beside

But if I climb up its old trunk, I'll have nowhere left to hide

Life is a big old joke, just maybe

That's either on me or with me, I don't know

Please don't let me take it seriously

Granite, concrete, dirt, or cobblestone

Digging for the Rabbit Hole

Savor the sickly sweet song

This melody playing tricks with your tongue

This porcelain piece of air, vibrations dancing through your hair

As you run to the meadow, that secret space

Then back behind the willow to your haunting place

Dangling dead flowers in the stream, drifting dark desires on daydreams

Far away in your mind from their stares

Those claustrophobic grand hall glares

That put you in your rightful spot with whispered weavings of what you're not

Till the swirling sky takes you right out

And you soar above their bloated bouts

And catch the hum of birds who sing of wires, wasps, and angel wings

For angels, you know, are talked of by folk

As birds talk of dragons, when high up they float

In those imbalanced sort of tones, daring to believe somewhere in their bones

Yet, of course, this talk of such impossible things

Should be saved, they would say, for the playground swings

And now you are grown and dignified, yet of course you now ran to do much more than hide