Saturday, September 26, 2015

Enabler



Everyone is waiting
anticipating
the time that will come
when their life will start
when the clouds will part
nobody ever had the heart
to say
Life begins today

I have been sitting 
grabbing
wiping and shining 
the things I thought were
diamonds
things that were close
to my soul

As with everyone else
I was just a carbon speck
polishing coal

Time to take off the hard hat
stand up exactly where I'm at
and move
Nothing else to do
and plenty left to prove
This moment in time
is like a descending
we have only become
the enabler

The Inevitable Invisible. by Kenneth Woomer


There has been a landslide of nothing
The feeling of something
The death of awareness
The apathy of arrangement
The flavor of familiar
Gravity will greet your eventual
Sleeking into the ethereal
The inevitable invisible

Sunday, July 19, 2015

Sunday, October 26, 2014

My own little piece of auto correct poetry. Post dinner.

Love pop pm I'll poo I will opportunity of pollock on looks lollipop pop culture is lo l poop let us to look poo

Monday, July 28, 2014

Recently October

October Opus by Ken Woomer.
Part One I am the salmon (man to be)
He fell, he hit bottom
he was not sure if he was alive or if he was dead
somewhere deep inside his head
the social chains rack up his arms and legs
he wishes thinks and prays
he transforms into a bird
he flies over a farm and trees
a high flying mystery
a flower reaches up to him as he flies over
spying a field he flies lower
lower towards the flower
He lands gently beside leans forward
beholding the odor and power then flies away
re-transformed back to his closed cell
but not without the flowers smell.
as the aroma penetrated it left him disoriented
mutated
fixated
all it took was time I saw her and my heart did a skip,
a jump and a bump I told her my name showed her my new tattoo
misguided Elvis lift lip
Heretical semi erectable' jester mocking,
noise making, benedicting', interrupting
man to be, a man to be,
a man I am.
Part Two. Lo, the candlestick of Adam
I said to the girl, I said 'You can't go out there without shoes, It's September.' She replied 'O don't be silly, silly boy. I can go soulless anywhere.'
I stared at her, and she looked right past me towards the road towards the trees towards the small bottle of alcohol I had tucked away in my bag.
I felt her leg next to mine and I think she understood my emotional damn'dness.
I took her where she wanted to go she took me close I helped her clasp a small hair pin to hold up her hair. I read her a poem, she attempted to feign interest.
I leaned her back into my chest I felt like a jousting headless knight.
Part Three Goddess of October
O goddess of October, take me in your thoughts. Give me a second of magic give me a second of love give me a second of your magic mystical fever O goddess of October don't let a moment pass me by without your gentle examination (don't let a hair fall from her head that does not meet with my touch) O goddess of October does it seem right that your moon is so big could there be a harvest for me somewhere in your lunar landscape of love of delight of decay of husk and costume? can there be a time of slow embrace leaving us in its slow miserable wake just give me a wonderful honey taste all i wait for is a minute to considerate i ask you if your candle is lit i jump i leap, scream and spit i can't get you to recognize it leads to frustration dynamite caps things that go boom pop and smack i send you a pigeon i send you a telegram you just have to feel my vibration tiny speck, dust bowl atom cells of a teeny lanky suffragette prison i send to you my heart it comes back in pieces Part Three. pig skeleton wunderlust She ate a portabella mushroom sandwich with sun dried tomatoes and melted mozzarella cheese the restaurant was a hole in the wall and the music was old crooners she contemplated a girl who sat in her mind she chewed the fibers and half listened to musty musical war sounds from the 40's a time before her time but she could sometimes smell the wool from the era she could sometimes feel the tweed in her thoughts and as the ice tea made its way down the back of her thoughts she decided she was going to move. but the rain is falling, falling down the kind that falls cold on her cool platinum skin the kind of wet skin that makes men cum the slow pig like skeleton that makes the girl walk gingerly upon open snow he reaches out to her like a giant arm that cascades down the left range of a mountain sky she reaches back with an icy blue stare and melts him into his soul when the rain stops the girl is gone and the arm that reached is the arm that dies and the death itself reads like terror on the soul and nobody will ever know but then again and then again it is nothing to miss it is nothing to kiss the emotion of a hug goodbye only to greet it again somewhere around the bend so take my little hand in your smallish palm and lets wait for the yellow fat sun to break the dawn the big yellow dawn red dark red the colors themselves the sense of dawning dread the heavy morning after a night in someone’s arms a sleepy tired glance all life’s free charms it is nothing to miss cost nothing to wait it is the free price of a chance heartbreak of a chance heartbreak

Thursday, October 31, 2013

Lilith                                  by Kenneth Woomer
Can you feel it darling
Can you taste it as it drips
As it hits the skin and makes it rip?
Can you see the color of our faces
as it stains our clothes, our places?
I look at your new red gown
I smile through my bloodstained tears
No one can detect a frown.
Not this deep beneath the ground
Lilith

Saturday, April 13, 2013


Soul Dust By Kenneth Woomer

I have been sitting 
grabbing
wiping and shining 
the things I thought were
diamonds
things that were close
to my soul

As with everyone else
I was just a carbon speck
polishing coal

Everyone is waiting
anticipating
the time that will come
when their life will start
when the clouds will part
nobody ever had the heart
to say
Life begins today

Monday, March 25, 2013

Draft Dodger by Kenneth Woomer

I have nothing left to lose
I am walking drunk on Jesus Juice
Don't tell me what to do
I served I am served
and I would have if I could have
Draft Dodger

I smoked what you read
and read what you smoked
I stay up at night shitting your smoke
Draft Dodger

 I saluted the flag
watched as God hated fags
felt the star spangled welts
wiped my ass with the bible belt
Draft Dodger 

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Only Australia Survives  by klw

Only Australia survived
After nuclear skies
the world was panned fried
and all the dogs were dead and the dingo's too
the drums that beat and karamandu
the ones that were left expressions were felt as eyes point to the skies
with the faithful demised
noone left to cry
Only
Australia survived
A long time ago, mankind noticed that right after the fall of the year, they started getting hungry. And, they furthermore found out, if they had not stored up a lot of stuff JUST before fall, lots of times they died. Dying is heavy stuff, even when you don't have a religion to make you feel better about it. But, they didn't have to wait long.. Winter Solstice actually has a scientific definition 'The winter solstice occurs at the instant when the Sun's position in the sky is at its greatest angular distance on the other side of the equatorial plane from the observer's hemisphere.' See, now that wasn't too hard? Any religious folks out there read that? Put away your chocolate jesus laying in a manger.. and just read that over again. Soon you will be thinking about reading OTHER stuff that is not religious. Who knows, the whole frontal lobe might start kicking in. What is it regarding Christians and chocolate? On Christmas we give each other chocolate by the bucket loads. Valentines day. FUCK. I mean is there any other way to express your loyalty to god than to cover something in chocolate? I suppose cramming a cherry in it somewhere. I am still waiting for the cherry filled chocolate 'from the grave' zombie christ to be sold at Easter. What possibly could be the hold up? Certainly isn't good taste! I mean, if you really wanted to do the Passion Play correctly, why not have the Chocolate Roman Soldiers, with possibly licorice whips, beating up on the chocolate jesus (who melts in your soul, not in your hand) ... and maybe with some scientific help we can make the jesus chocolate activate when the licorice whips hit jesus's chocolate back.. and 100% Cherry Juice can ooze out of pre manufactured chocolate holes... symbolic of his bloody, yet tasty, suffering. Made in the Peoples Republic of Communist China, by five year olds.. again emphasizing the symbolic suffering with some real world 'suffer the little children' SIXTY MINUTES style. I know at easter, one of the first things I do.. I grab the biggest chocolate cross, with Jesus on it, that I can find. I bite the head off right away. That way one cannot tell if it is Jesus or John the Baptist. Gives it more of a mysterious creamier chocolate symbolic meaning. I mean, why not smooth out the meaning with milk chocolate. I realize not everyone will agree with me, so there could be some Dark Chocolate headless crosses out there....all flavors of chocolate to all people.

Sunday, September 30, 2012

October Opus by kenneth l. woomer Part One I am the salmon (man to be) he fell, he hit bottom he was not sure if he was alive or if he was dead but, somewhere deep inside his head the social chains rack up his arms and legs he wishes thinks and prays he transforms into a bird he flies over a farm and trees a hi flying mystery a flower reaches up to him as he flies over a field he flies lower, lower towards the flower lands gently beside leans forward beholding the odor and power then flies away retransformed back to his closed cell but not without the flowers smell. as the aroma penetrated it left him disoriented mutated fixated on the crime all I had to be was unkind all it took was time I saw her and my heart did a skip, a jump and a bump I told her my name showed her my new tattoo and misguided lip she decided for a day and a half that I was the man in her life the man to be I was torn with rife, so gone from life I felt like a jewish sacrificial knife h'ewe'd on the altar of life nobody will treat me like this again not this time not the next not one more again. I decided a monastery would be the thing for me take a long shallow minded swim in a pool of theology even though the water was warm against my thin tattooed skin I could never let my lust go Heretical semi erectible jester mocking noise making benedicting interrupting man to be a man to be a man I am could be noted as failure or could be tattooed as normal right across my millennium face leaving not a trace for anyone to see or to be with in time or time again (time) I walk the land like cain I try different guises I wear different sizes but I am just a man on the inside and a fool on the outside and both in-between I don't think anyone knows exactly what anyone means but I will take your word for it even though when you talk about it I seem to cough scream and spit feeling it out inside me a man to see what becomes of our reality I look up to you With dark brown dark eyes I look up to you With some surprise I lean towards you I motion your direction Barely speaking I ask you a series of questions… could you hold my life by its hands could you lift me up to where you are if you tell me you are leaving will you ever go too far if you leave me forever will you phone me and tell me you miss me so are you planning to let me go how will I know will you take my life by its hands and help me stand to my feet if you never met me could our non-met ever meet if I told you how I felt would you look me in the eyes would you kiss me surprise if I held your hand in mine could I ever reach deep inside I sit by our door and wait and nothing comes or goes and I never ever hesitate to yell out your name at the first sight of shadows or lotions or motions that remind me of your presence here on our stage our lonely solitude stage they say behind my back amongst the snickers and laughs that I am insane that I never did, never will gain the love of the tiny one the wondrous one and if I ever had a sense of shame I would gather my mat up from the doorstep the entryway and start to make my way so far, far away but I ignore the laughs I ignore the pain for as I sit here through the sun through the rain I sit here in my loss I sit here in my gain memories flood my mind to better happier times to a small little one her eyes sparkled mysterious colors in the morning sun and I remember her taking me by my life's hands I remember her nuzzle next to me in the heavy sand those days are so, so far away and my memory starts to grey starts to fade but I continue to replay and replay the autumn wind breezes across me and I see the trees above me and my dreams still refuse to leave I can see the scarecrow I can see your glowing happy face 'It's the most beautiful thing I ever did receive' I can remember you exclaim I can remember the holding of you and the tender and the lace breaking little rules as you lay beside my chest in your deep slumber in your deep rest susan will never ever know will you take me by my life's hands will you lift me up make me smile one more time will you lay on her couch and never worry about the time will you forgive me for my energy will you forgive me for my hyper sensitivity will you ever return to me I guess I will never ever see my life's hands lay in my lap of non luxury and I guess I never ever will be Part Two. Lo, the candlestick of adam I said to the girl, I said You can't go out there without shoes, it's september she replied O don't be silly, silly boy. I can go soulless anywhere I stared at her, and she looked right past me towards the road towards the trees towards the small bottle of alcohol I had tucked away in my bag I felt her leg next to mine and I think she understood my emotional damn'dness I took her where she wanted to go she took me close I helped her clasp a small hair pin to hold up her hair I read her a poem she attempted to feign interest I leaned her back into my chest I felt like a jousting headless knight O goddess of October take me in your thoughts give me a second of magic give me a second of love give me a second of your magic mystical fever O goddess of October don't let a moment pass me by without your gentle examination (don't let a hair fall from her head that does not meet with my touch) O goddess of October does it seem right that your moon is so big could there be a harvest for me somewhere in your lunar landscape of love of delight of decay of husk and costume? can there be a time of slow embrace leaving us in its slow miserable wake just give me a wonderful honey taste all i wait for is a minute to considerate i ask you if your candle is lit i jump i leap, scream and spit i can't get you to recognize it leads to frustration dynamite caps things that go boom pop and smack i send you a pigeon i send you a telegram you just have to feel my vibration tiny speck, dust bowl atom cells of a teeny lanky suffragette prison i send to you my heart it comes back in pieces Part Three. pig skeleton wunderlust She ate a portabella mushroom sandwich with sun dried tomatoes and melted mozzarella cheese the restaurant was a hole in the wall and the music was old crooners she contemplated a girl who sat in her mind she chewed the fibers and half listened to musty musical war sounds from the 40's a time before her time but she could sometimes smell the wool from the era she could sometimes feel the tweed in her thoughts and as the ice tea made its way down the back of her thoughts she decided she was going to move. but the rain is falling, falling down the kind that falls cold on her cool platinum skin the kind of wet skin that makes men cum the slow pig like skeleton that makes the girl walk gingerly upon open snow he reaches out to her like a giant arm that cascades down the left range of a mountain sky she reaches back with an icy blue stare and melts him into his soul when the rain stops the girl is gone and the arm that reached is the arm that dies and the death itself reads like terror on the soul and nobody will ever know but then again and then again it is nothing to miss it is nothing to kiss the emotion of a hug goodbye only to greet it again somewhere around the bend so take my little hand in your smallish palm and lets wait for the yellow fat sun to break the dawn the big yellow dawn red dark red the colors themselves the sense of dawning dread the heavy morning after a night in someone’s arms a sleepy tired glance all life’s free charms it is nothing to miss cost nothing to wait it is the free price of a chance heartbreak of a chance heartbreak

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

The Doves of Existentialism

The Doves of Existentialism by KLW

Everyone is waiting
anticipating
the time that will come
when their life will start
when the clouds will part
nobody ever had the heart
to say
Life begins today

I have been sitting
grabbing
wiping and shining
the things I thought were
diamonds
things that were close
to my soul

As with everyone else
I was just a carbon speck
polishing coal

Time to take off the hard hat
stand up exactly where I'm at
and move
Nothing else to do
and plenty left to prove
This moment in time
is like a descending dove
landing, wondering if there is any peace
Don't ask me how
Don't ask me when
But sooner or later
The dove will leave.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Turtles (for Betty, from your son in law)

I reached out and touched your hand today
wondering where you are
having talked to you just yesterday
time is no friend of mine
and you have nothing left to give
penny for your thoughts
just to hear you talk
poetry from your lips

You cared from turtle hardness
and a soft inner soul
power from a well
that only you could control
lightening flow from painted brush ends
through the glass, fabric
and tenderness
You could throw a punch
fix someone lunch
you could spot a fox
amongst the hens
and in your duchess
yellow canary VW spin

Now cold winds pretend to know
what warmth was there just
a brief time ago
nothing will prepare the present
for the loss of the past
the love the sharing
the fun
the nightly visits knowing
time was of essence
the love the glory
your life was our story

my thoughts of you dance
and waltz
to the beat of things carved and painted
several years, and decades in the making
funny cakes baking
chocolate scented sunsets
rose colored rabbit puppets
worn, ears torn
and still desired
things that pulsed
are now just a slight tired
hanging jackets
funny hats
and ruby moon
crescents drape across
our new place

I reached out and touched your hand
and the feeling of running sands
the hourglass made a pass
emptied the glass
and left some change
in the ashtray
all this happened, just today
and yesterday

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Broken Down Guitar (draft)

Broken Down Guitar by klw

I have this broken down guitar
And playing songs is hard
And the memories are channeling, plunking through
With this broken down guitar playing
Songs of beer and hearts
Neither filled
And torn apart

I pleade the day will come
When freedom from this strum
Will send me on a place that I can rest
And take my thoughts in hand
And with a merry band
Lifts spirits like and ancient bard

Until that time arrives
Lets dry our dreary eyes
Amd listen the broken down guitar

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Dry Clean

Dry Clean
(dedicated to the memory of Allen Ginsberg and Franz Kafka, THE HOWL and THE JUDGEMENT respectively)

tattered ruined
the mans coat
ragged frap lumberjack
red and black long since
lost on the memories of those
who glanced upon the coat
of a man who stands near the edge
on a bridge, over a muddy
river bank, with little or no interest
tatter ruined the man's soul
ragged stone sinking low
like a stone
that strips away from gravities weight
and sinks down, gets down, into the
muddy banks below
with little or no interest
to those above the scene of muddy banks
that continually intake stones
and souls
on sunny days
or rain.
the bridge moves on and time goes fast,
no one anywhere ever looks back or down
to the pattered bank of soft and brown,
into the waters murky deep
to see a finger pointing three and final
stabs, upward, skyward, final tray
a number sacred to ones who raise
but no soul rises, only sinks
and murky growling
reddish
nouning
sinking,
verby slinking
unnervy into the past
that noone remembered
and since surrendered to a
myth or perhaps religion
of banks and stones and souls
that gather below
underneath the murky deep
O such stones,
I plead to thee,
take my finger
stabbed by three and drop
my blood droplets into thee
I tear my coat from my back
and I rip it into sacrificial rags
OF my coat of oriental make,
I push my finger like a stake
deep into the fabric
of it’s cloth
I smooth my blood
and I rigamort
to the sky above
the lonely sky above
where stones don't lie
or souls don't pile,
I raise my offering
to the sky
and
JUMP.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Jokerbeast (Deb and I poem from ten ish years ago)


Jokerbeast By Kenneth L. Woomer and Deborah Hussung

I have been running with this beast
His name is too hard to say
I just call him Jokerbeast
I think he is a killer
I think he has blood

On his hooves

And sometimes when we laugh
He slips me some SKIN
And we tell big tall lies
And give each other HIGH FIVES
I love it
I dig it
He does too

In the tree lines above my forest glade
I met this huge mountain thing
With a name that outstretched my vocab
Neither of which did I understand
I just called him Jokerbeast

Time and time again 
He would laugh a huge roar
When he told stories
Of peace,
Death,
Violence
And WAR

But I would watch his giant yellow like teeth
In self horror
And wonder to myself if
He was capable of a friendly
Murder

At night you could hear
Him scream

Teeth like yellow church steeples
Or conical wizard hats with red stars
Blood speckled
He rolls his jaundiced eye
Nodding, laughing

Eyes are yellow with red spirals
Spinning like 2 Laundromat dryers
Sometimes they look blacker than my heart
Paisley shaped and mocking

Piebald cast off clothing with a ridiculous ruffle,
Framing his meaty leathery face
His jaw muscles ripple
Like the strong man's arm as he breaks the bearded woman's neck

He mocks my every gesture like a beastly pantomime
Always closer than my shadow - inside me biting my heart
Savoring each quivering beat with foam flecking his lips
He is quiet then and we listen to the silence

Sometimes he chews the fat and tells me stories
It's always my own story
About him and me
The stories scare me

His laugh is huge like a rusty corn silo in Nebraska
I want to oil the corners of his mouth as he screeches
He coughs a cloud of oxidation and orange dust motes drift
He slips me some skin

And we're quiet again


Jokerbeast is 50 feet tall or 1 inch small
He snaps like an elastic rubber band
I can bounce him like a red rubber ball
He can pound me into the Coney Island ground

He eats scrap metal and scaffolding
Rusty ladders with paint splatters
Car engines and washing machines
He leers at me through bloody gums and broken teeth

His fists are gigantic and he beats them upon the land
I perch on his shoulder and trim his side burns
Rocking and rolling to the baseline and rhythm
Bouncing along to the monstrous beat

I don't know where he came from cause he wasn't always there
I think he crawled out from under a gypsy’s wagon
Or slid from the eye of an angel of hell
Or maybe from an exotic tent dome he once called home

I tell him jokes every once in a while and he giggles like mad
Smiling a lopsided grin with demons impaled on each pointy spire
I see his face like my own reflection & I once detected perplexion
Dancing across his warty complexion, a deepening dark hole of rejection

I could not decide if it was an expression of sadness
Or the indigestion fueled by his madness
But then he roared like a lion on an African day
Laughed like a hyena and flashed me some teeth

As I slipped him some skin and waited for the end

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

War and Existence

War and Existence. by Uncle

Yellow teeth
and bungled gums
allowing for reconsideration
of the direct information
of our confrontation
I had no idea, of how thoughts
contrary to yours might
inhibit my well being
and seeing
the condition of my being
legal matters most likely
condescending
and gripping the future
due to the massive present

Love for one another takes a turn
for the worse
like a evil wicked southern voo doo curse
I never knew the pin hurt so bad
I saw the hailstones and brimstone
and soon after changed my pants
reality rarely gives a second chance
but I tipped my hat
in a flurry
which is quite another word for hurry
and left
touching my bruised cleft
I never meant to cause panic
it is just a curious lore of my nature

Wars come and go
like politicians skiing in the snow
trees appear
they stop things
reminding the transients of roots
all the way from the hooded head
to the fancy boots
nothing like the future directly in front of you
to remind you
reality rarely gives a second chance
like a zoned out pop star
on a bed
not responding
not breathing
but music in the background
point to happier times
grabbing one self
putting the whole machinery of self
onto the shelf
where it can sit
and be looked at
probed and
given a second chance

Lets dance
one foot in front of the other
like lumberjacks dressed in leather
we sail across the floor
since we have tripped each other

kiss me darling
tell me the war is over
I love you as deep as my scars
hand you flowers to gaze upon
to smoke upon
to do whatever you wish upon
just to lay here in the presence of
the flickering sunlight
covering my eyes from the pain
planning on changing the sheets
removing all the stains
from the past
and renew our vows
under cloudless skies
skins fry
people die
we all stand in line

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Tourniquet Solutions

Tourniquet Solutions

A dead man
from a grave
demanded that I be his slave

I questioned his credentials
and he said I was not
sane
said I was mental
He told me he was a savior
a leader
with a parable
but nothing he said made sense
it just sounded good the ears
He turned water into wine
and barley into beers
but we could never cross
the bridge of understanding
and reason
and blood
and death
and treason

I cut my shirt
tied a tourniquet
around his neck
pushed out the stool
and hoped for the best

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Present Perfect Blue part two DRAFT

I am not going to hit the pipe tonight, but the bottle was fine, and nothing is better than the feeling of fresh wine, on the mind. Take me for a stripping, take me for a ride... I can't explain the type of hide that I reside, only to tell you that I can no longer hide from where I reside.

Sweet Poison (Thank U Jesus)

Sweet Poison (thank U Jesus) by Uncle

the poison was sweet
and the taste was of meat
but nothing could prepare the meek
for the greed
that was to come
it was not anything you could prepare
it was nothing depressing or sad
it was wrapped in a bible and flag
and was very hard to see

Blood is rarely felt
only often seen
pain comes later
after the cut has been made
the temptation
of wealth
the inflation of grade


take the hit
by mouth or by vein
it doesn't matter
the end result is the same
the intoxication clouds the reason
and just adds to the confusion
victims become statistics
and never own a name

the national stain
on the memory
that used to be our brain
take the ticket
and pull up to the train
to the destination nobody
ever talks about
no screams or shouts
will be heard

nobody will say a word
our sentence has been
made
in the cold stone gravestones
that cover our shallow graves

Can we dance as spirits
Can we taste our defeats
like freshly eaten meats
on the tables of the fat
and bloated
with big fat accounts
and cashmier coats
everyone is on diets
from the stomach that bloats

Thank you Jesus
Thank you God
for everything
everything that I have
shat upon.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Cardiac Check

Cardiac Check by Uncle

I felt like nothing I have ever felt like
and I have you to thank
I remember the fire you made
and the flames so large they
heated up our faces

I am hanging up our line
and you might think I have no spine
but the truth is
we are no longer in the same camp
our guns are warm
and our foreheads are damp
lets take another break
and give it a rest

but today is another day
and it hurts me to say
I am going to have to walk away

The colors we shared have changed shade
and nothing can make them what they were
way back when
Don't go away angry
Lets leave the place
in a better way than we found it
but the door for me has opened
and I have to leave

There does not have to be any blood on the floor
no knives in the back
nobody to quote, slander or hack
just leave the trap shut
keep your feelings in the gut

Lets both

Shut the fuck up

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Rope

Rope

Grass stained glass windows leak the light in slowly, filtered dirty passing like med through the window.

Nobody can come near the tomb, for there is no room, the bodies stack, sheer heart attack, the stench from rotting loom.

The thieves were shot, then promptly caught, despite the cries of relatives and wives, all were fit with rope for ties.

With flowers and mask, you can lean on the sash, thoughts like pedals, screaching heavy metals make their way to the ground below.

Listen as the dog yowls out in true hound sounds. Say your peace, stand from bended knee, nothing will make it go away, nothing will make you free.

Package up your things, and hope for a moonless night. Breaking and entering can be very tense, but remember your brothers and raise money for union and cut and make your fence.

Fleet feet and gunfire. Hair pulled back, night black and red blood. Making your way to the meeting point. Saying prayers to nobody in particular, faith never paid the bills or made things healing any better.

Silent night holy night and all the things that make one feel better. You are lifted onto the gurney, and given last rights.

Replacing the scene, different actors, isn't it sweet. Lips pressed against your cheek. The cold skin, the mourning begins.

The grass stained windows cast a dirty shadow across your face. Never will this soul look this good again.