I’m so tired
here at the end of this year
this year of mourning

denied and repressed

until I cried alone

and alone I undressed

I’m so tired
the end of this year of failed starts
classes that were endured
in a high healing smoke
friends and family  that isolate me
in their righteous fist waving
look me in the face and call me those names

I guess the more we try to prove

the more we stay the same
becoming what we hate
and the hate just breeds more hate
and accuses the other of the same
and it just gets louder
until alone you cry
and alone you get dressed

and we can put on faces
and we can take up causes
but in that mirror of our anger

we still face the last laugh
in our sad but true nakedness

as we raise our righteous fists
and rot in our pride

and hang ourselves on our lies

I’m so tired
tired of these petty sins

that get shoved in our faces again and again

give me my pipe and my paper
and let me see my friends

take your arguments
for they will always be there

take your words that cut

because one day you’ll see the people in between the lines

take all the support only love could give

and then slap me with the time that remains

like some kind of retrograde

take all the support and use it like a soapbox

point your finger and preach
yes…because we become what we hate
and eventually hate what we become

and one day you will be alone

while you are coming undone

and I’m tired

at the end of the year of transitions
I didn’t even get to welcome the change
since all the anti shame warriors then felt the need to shame
so go get on your soap box and leave me be
hand me my pipe and free the weed

because in this circle the real life doers are still getting along

understanding life and love and peace

and we don’t put on faces
and we don’t take up causes
that mirror nothing but the oppressor

and we know who has the last laugh
on the last days of all of our age

when we mirror what we hated

when we face what we run from

when we undress






Crying Blood

Playing fiddles
or playing golf
representatives of a represented state
of the indifferent
say what you will about love
and say what you will about hate
force those sides to take sides
and churn in their disdain
drown in the numb
and drowning in the debts to be paid
sinking in the corners
pointed fingers and all that discord
the representatives dont represent anything
just play fiddles and play golf
and someone keeps score
take notes and keeps record
at the ledger boards
don’t speak to soon
or just don’t speak at all
while tears turn to blood
and the old angers call
call for their vengeance that’s been unearthed
and somehow we are all the enemy now
while the represents don’t represent
they just play and whistle on the while
chessboards and pawns
everyone in the dark waiting on their dawn
cut my throat and watch me bleed
but neither you nor I was the enemy
in the dark days I held onto the light
but my battle never ever was
in the theater where they held the fight
look back further and
further still look
look how many times the enemies just took
playing golf or playing fiddles
painting pictures or spinning riddles
cutting throats and making symbols
and we all bleed or cry
or crying blood
I see
I saw as I gasped above the flood
playing golf, playing fiddles or playing darts
anyone will do
and anyone will
be it sword, be it famine
be it forced race wars
or be it old cold iron curtains
the house of cards getting blown
and as we scatter…hey
but the game players are already known
as they whistle and play their cards
as they feign concern
while they play their darts
as they make jokes
and play their golf
blood tears flood the sands
blood tears
while they cry for blood