Flood Runs Deep

How many briefs have played

The role of victim upon this

Well-walked floor?

How many mistakes have been

Let to slip through the cracks of

Prejudice, bearing only unilateral

Shields marked with the indicia of ignorant applause?

If something runs amiss

Perhaps the better option

Would be to fix what ails

If something runs afoul

Perhaps the best option

Would be to tear the framework down

If the only thing preventing change,

Are the potentially diminished pocketbooks of senators and congressmen…then cast out thy demon and begin anew again

Sometimes…oftentimes…It feels as if, we, the old and young, the each and all, not included in that select caste of few, belong to a collective, duly deserving of unique entitlement.  Qualified most of us are, to propose a writ of habeas corpus be filed in our honor; to ensure the whys are answered appropriately, beginning with why the few, are able to imprison the many without a recourse set to scales?

Instead we fight amongst ourselves.  Battles between brothers and sisters, cousins and aunts, uncles and fathers, mothers and sons, Daughters and nephews, grandparents and nieces, neighbors and friends, break out all too consistently.  This warfare has the few popping a cork, as they enjoy the show, watching as the power of a combined voice crumbles incoherently. Instead of speaking in unison, many as one, the screams of singular derision overshadow each the other, creating an unlistenable, undecipherable message sent.

There were four cities illustrated Biblically, where we know what stirred the seas; where we know what came to be, and yet, still

This flood runs much deeper…

The Crimson Bath

Post prism

Depression

Angular dissension

Grandiose

A delicacy, a toast

For those lacking light the most

And so I drift away, to a place I once knew so very well,

A universe unlike this one, a place where homes are carved in stone,

Where troublesome letches rove the dark extensions

Hours in comatose

Stumbling cross the craggy fray

Middling moments

Of great reverberation

Songs of echoic chants repeat their play

Over and over, again and again

I can’t get their words out from my head

Fur placed by river’s shore

In the water I reflect upon atrocities

So soon forgotten despite their retention of warmth

Like spores popping conscientiously

I see my face in its entirety

A slow step back brings my frame to focus

And the memories flood my thought canal

         Painting cornerstones a myriad of shades

The vivid and the off hue

For an eon it seemed to stand

A frozen man, without

Yet amassing swarms of enemies

Bathed in crimson,

                  Not just the flesh, but also, the question marks as well

          How did this cleansing come to be?

                  Was it birthed in pleasure or necessity?

         What languages speak in tongues like these?

And even the voices shake their heads…

                           Why has recollection shunned me so?

To steal the process from the skipping stone,

To dwell so far yet ogle my position from deserted throne

                  Leaving me with only prayers to own

What is the origin of such constructs?  

                   Is it in me, has this been the case all along

Or is it within parts yet to be seen?

Who is the architect of such a mask?

         Were these hands meant for callousing?

If so, then why has the subconscious purged remembrance so thin?

                           Into the crystal wash I walk

The scarlet I desire weakened; pray at all cost it’s forever lost

        

Upon submersion

How many sins shall wash away?

Where will the currents take them?

Will they regret? Will they every truly go?

Will they feel isolation, as they drift along without home?

Or will their next host embrace their cruel glow?

         From phosphorus to dust

From anxiety to life

                  We wash the crimson clean

                           Arising, from beneath the fluid screen

Hair compressed to nape

Levity is quiet still; levity may have died this day

Yet/ Reborn I feel/ lighter than I have ever been

When Desires Vanish

When desires vanish, and warmth's removed,

I can’t explain how we arrived at this place,

Seems like just yesterday you had butterflies,

And I was scared to death,

But the truth is too easy not to see,

Yet we deny any notion of problems,

Not sure when the trouble began

But I am aware it’s not just one,

Nor is it only the other,

There’s too much space and not enough smothering,

Lately I feel invisible, alone without any of the immutable benefits of isolation

But we don’t argue, we don’t fight, we don’t bicker and we don’t bite,

When we’re out we sure put on our pretty faces,

Looking good to strangers on the street, perfect masks for you and me,

The house we share we cross paths here and there,

But home to us, is defined with two entirely different entry cases,

Some days I wonder why we even bother,

Then moments pass and I recall how this all started, remembering exactly why,

But there must be a solution, some type of resolution,

A set, a control, some sort of working model,

For this vague and non-substantial, bland relation, empty, vacant and hollow are the

Words spoken, with the clarity and closeness expressed between two strangers,

Each conversation sounding like extended copy, each selling to the other coldness, an unknown

 To where little smiles and gentle touching forms, are enough to prevent any deeper, meaningful discussions