We Used to Talk

Ponder with me, if you will, 

Those distant cousins who crafted language. 

To emerge, erect and erect from

The shadows, the lack, the before, 

Into the mistakes of Eve. Imagine

The poetry rolling through 

Hills of tongues, fjords of teeth, 

Just to taste it and birth bird song. 

Imagine how the moon conspired

To create romance and lust,

The Sun spawning wonder and the guteral sound of art, 

Doubt oozing out of the swollen snakebite

And the venomous glee in being

The smith of words just to hurt. 

Ponder the creation of song and wails, 

The utterance of a messiah and the horns of Jericho, 

The white horse and death rattle. 

Now, Speak. 

“Bird in the House” – Railroad Earth

I used to be an adorable, hairy hippy who stomped around on lysergic acid diethylamide drinking stolen heineken kegs and sticking it to the man while bluegrass jam bands serenaded my mates into my lair. Tonight I cried when this song came on my shuffled playlist and reminded me of who I am supposed to be. I’ll be myself again, I promise.


In the meantime, Thanks Obama.

Blue Collar

Hey, how are you?
I’m so good, I like this whole French Revolution, red and black, look you have going on.
Thanks, haha, I uh, How are you?
Fine. Fine fine.
You recoiled there.
Yea, I’m really high.
I’m really wasted.
Uh, so how are you?
Who are these? Friends?
It’s good. It’s good to have friends. Hey, friends? Hey, you ok knowing this person is way smarter than you ever could be? I mean it. Smarter than you could ever be.
That’s coming from someone smarter than me.
Also true. I’m so wasted.
Nothing wrong with…
Imma go smoke about it.
That’s one solution.
Imma go to sleep.
Good luck.