I feel the wrath of angry men
march all over the 
ridges of my shoulders
crying revolution
across my back

and here the poets
write their books into
my spine– pounding verses
deep into my bones

and all the while I try
my best to last the night
as the world below danced
to racing heartbeats

they hoisted their
flags drenched with
unfathomable pain–
claiming ground beneath 
battered joints.

Phantom bruises join
the orchestra;
singing battle songs
for a war not once
have I wanted nor
asked for;

deep discomfort
from a civilian caught
along the cross fires
of a feud between
health and laziness.


We stood at the

edge, cliffs

earth sky conjoined

I looked into water below

reflecting sky roiling red;


here was the void, vexed and vindicated

corrupted confused contorted condescended

dead dead dead and

I fell

she pushed

over the edge

some days I stare up at roiling red my shoulders tell me that sea sky are void vexed I have fallen dying deeper drowning and I

sink or swim