XY

in a scorched red building
on the thirteenth floor
see the ten candles sliced
watch as they drop down more
out the window a new hill
wasn’t there the day before
(wasn’t there the day before)
after pilots set their gaze
through the blackened night
death-grip on a promise
eyes frozen on site
out the window another pile
tell me now are you still right?
(are you still right?)
charging for the gates
tens of thousands of men
taste of fire and blood
drop to the hills again
all the faces blinded
bit by the dogs that guide them
seeth at the dogs that bind them
throw the flowers to the soil
they’ll never grow
see the luna moths congregate
decimate
affiliate
then burn in the flames
simple ones to tame
belly-up in the lake
no weapon but the knife in his back
belly-up in the river
blue with the cold shiver
slivers of his spine
scattered along the shore
with pieces of his “holy” mind
and the sacred child
it’s all just rust and coal
you can see the cursed depth
of everything that won’t be left
rust and coal
stop beside the road
see the black plumes rise
sever the cloudless skies
and mark the stones with peaceful lies
sending them back
to the arms
of America

Copyright L.M. 2008.  (written May 10th, 2008.).

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Ascent

far below me lies
a river too deep to swim
it snakes all around me
and beckons me in
I reach for the branches
but, snapping, they fall too
and suddenly I realize
that I’m flying for you

the rapids, they squeeze me
and siphon my strength
the bitter chill of the water
testing my faith
somehow the branches
they keep me from death
and give me a chance at
a new kind of breath

Copyright L.M. 2007.  (written in West Virginia on way to Florida.).

Fauna

I look to either side of me
and see walls of earth
I’m surrounded
nestled
and I’m very happy

here crawl the critters
too shy to roam alone
on every platform, every ridge
of stark overhanging rock
lies a home
and if they could walk the world
you know they would
to explore the beauty of every peak

defenseless and white
it’s only fitting they rest
upon this healed landscape
adding tiny flecks of grace
to this beautifully scarred face

Copyright L.M. 2007.  (written in West Virginia on way to Florida.).

Mud (December 2006)

who would have known?
back to the drawing board…..

rain surrounding
a puddle of mud
where I lay
helplessly shamed
melancholic and merciless
I tie these beams
strength in hands only
unaware of hope
open to nothing
I’m not well
and I sang too much

under me lies ground
unfamiliar and true
the incubated sadness gutting me
sidles up and winks
such a jerk
and buries me in splashes
as he passes me
slamming fists in the mud

Copyright L.M. 2006.