simple stories & descriptive prose, subtle gestures, random stuff I'm diggin'.

What has shifted form from what we recognized
Only to become a semblance of shadow
What names did we call ourselves
Which ones did he write in his hand?
Did we find ourselves lost, did we forget
All the quiet things that once dotted the many thoughts
Of the holiness we would become
Did we grow heavy with the mountains of memory
Made heavier by the collections of dreams we lost
What did us in?
What brought us to our knees?
What ancient death has stopped us cold?
What part of us still pulses with life?
Have we gone too far, have we forgotten too much to return to the place where we slept under
Crying trinities slow in swirls of dancing rays breaking through the spiraled grey of the sky
Our birthrights hold us back
Keep us quiet, keep us afraid
How do we sweat the fever of doubt
How do we climb out and bare upon our shoulders
A world of endless redundancies, subtle in their sickness.
They fall like mirrors speckled with smiles of faces we don’t recognize.
Wet with the mist of towns we’ve known but never lived in
We are these last things
The remnant that holds close the cherished idoltrees of our memories and the myriad of smile draped teeth that call back through time
That we may have peace and laughter in the dark of day
That we may remember our names
The ones we called ourselves stored in the rotaries of history itself
Where we knew our every speck and morsel so that we connect
Them all to eachother and you were connected too because we found the quiet strings that
Pulled close our sanctified hearts
Engraved by the semi conscious furls of thought that tie our ends together, yours and mine
And the scar worn deep that we bored on each other’s behalf
Sacrificing our very peace and sanctity that you might be made whole
If only you were whole
So that you would return for us and bring us home
To the places of our past the dead streets that no one returns to, filled with the spectres of ages we don’t remember living
No matter how many times we wash in gray glowing pools of michigan can we erase them or clean them
They are our prize and our wound
We are the monument to everything we have ever made and everything yet to be made
We are the precious creature loved and lost
We are the spirit redeemed
And if you would allow it we could be remade
Into something we would have always recognized