Sunday, June 5, 2011



Oh, Professor, you wished

for some sweet redemption

you followed a trail of imperfect night

with undiscovered larceny as something

still missing

these ruins are between us

the strange reflection is unforgiven

your self has fled around a corner

your promise broken but not forgotten

you press your sins still warm

between the pages of a marvelous tongue

your past paints you in zigzag hues and

faults you for your scent

somehow, still, you manage grayness

and leave us dry and broken

so proudly we wear those pelts of night

So this, then is the cry we are given

a fighter standing in the center of a spotlit ring

the bruised and bloodied artist beast

(for Jack Kevorkian)


We're soldiers of these tangled fables

lost in noise and history and faith

that fate that now runs out behind us

leaves burdened memory in its past

the boulders that we roll up the mountain

the bliss that we avoid

our sound, our virtue are insulted

and abandoned in the company of years

our liar friends have gathered slowly

and left our work undone.


Knowing the nameless

is advancing trouble now

opinion comes like a clouded crowd

to piss on us and leave us low

I saw this morning a nameless wind

a noble rain gathered round

collecting armor and bold shirts I walked

in private hell and right reason forgotten

I fell apart-

the crushing sound

on blighted ear

here advances trouble

under stars

and self-same sky

(For Michael Ruppert)

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