The hounds of heaven howl

To the home of hunger’s call

Beds made, layered in dust

Silver flies flitter and feed

Off the dreams of once-before

Distant echoes fading away

The hanging mist of solemn chains

A twisted haze of stolen tears

This broken maze leads only to death

Through emerald bay and Tessie’s leers

Sunbeams piercing ancient shields

Now swel...

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Reality ruthlessly runs

Responsively recollect repentant revelations

Reprehensible repercussions, renowned redress

Refute regimes, religions, rackets, racism

Resist

Recommence running

Raconteurs rivetingly rise, romantics reverently resonate, reporters rigorously reveal

Ruses require representative reasons

Reminisce remorseful regions, relegated repugnantly

Resurge ...

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When lose-lose feels so sordidly satisfying
To forget the draw of win-win
What is actually leading the life-defying?
Will I ever see life like a child again?

Ask questions to quell having to champion
Swim in chemical lobotomies
Either escaped in blissful oblivion
Or dismayed by moral dichotomies

There’s kindness in self-sabotage
Buried beneath the frailty and fear
From what does one ...

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With the oldies playing nearby, I’m alive on the edge of living

Doubting if it’s worth the try to keep enjoying the losing giving

The sweet taste of mediocrity piles onto a heel of wheat

Livin’ on the heat of withdrawals, and the milk of south G street

When the taking is always off

And I find myself lost

I’ll be hanging by the door

Lookin’ for the morning frost

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A fiery brand
by darkness's heavy hand
Woefully woven into latent lattices 
of raw remembrance
Too shrouded by shame's lofty shadow
for the shallow-sighted

A tangled tether spun
from the fallen ashes
of defiled dreams
Freshly festering
like bifurcating lesions
beneath the broiling flames
of hardened hatred

The trailing tendrils
of parasitic impression
Whose burrowing roots bore 
...

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Forty-five minutes to nowhere

Maybe then I’ll feel like an adult

I could have sworn that I don’t live here

How did I become part of this cult?

Did Santa come?

Quiet! O.J.’s on the TV again!

Just another eight miles to run

Then we’ll be allowed back in the pen

It’s constantly something

Sometimes nothing, or you forget

Will I win this time for losing?

I alr...

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