apocalypse, and good bourbon.

50 years of working for somebody else,somebody else’s money, somebody else’s dreams.a warm fire, a cook pot half full,a woman bent on loving,patient enough to stay.and the snail trails of children,grown and gone….echoes in the living room,echoes on the porch.old woman buried,echoes in the bed….hard lined old faces,eyes vacant as distance…lips bruised with silence,names written…

love is an abyss…the part of youthat you giveforms the bridge…give your all!

the things dogs smellwritten underneath stones.the day guns rise up and walk out,in utter protest.the long trek cows and pigs and fish make,on the way to becoming part of you.the sound potatoes makewhen you dig them…the fire you built before you built it!the things green beans whisper in the rain,the groan of tomatoes ripening.the sound…

singing in your libraries,chanting ‘justice’ in your courtrooms.scrawling liberty on the wallsand floors of your Senate,unlocking prison doors,bringing seed to your fields.hauling bodies from your mines,bringing doubt to your classrooms.taking your girls from the corners,sending them back to their homes.disarming your soldiers,and feeding your hungry!i extend the holy hand,that is common and covered with dirt!

the undressing of raindrops,and original sin!a thousand tiny deathsin your kiss and your touch,when more is less,too little’s too much!

the curtain stained,seven dollars in change.the gas can empty,the kerosene heater waits its call.one last cigarette,the hawk lost against the sky.potatoes and ashes,of such revolution.things done out of season,prayers spoken with shadows.black and white photographs,never eat or make love.the world is shaken,and tiny kingdoms fall!