The Cross

Everything is a spell, throughout the day, so many spirits are gathered, and they move your body, all their intentions, traveling through your actions, the heavens and their spirit, your life would be artwork, and you would be the pen, there’s no need to be concerned with your needs or desires, simply be a slave, bend your knees and give your father everything you can offer…

The Tip

Everything is blasphemous, how you move your hands or legs, the tremor of your fingers, caressing the river along the valley, reaching for the mountains and their snowy tips, caressing them with your lips, what was I saying, everything is wrong, two lines, the sun and the moon, and your son between them…

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The Cold Truth

It’s normal to die, in the realm of possibility, as the cookie crumbles, and reality echoes, just science and chemical reactions, just walking down the street, do you really have faith in the police, your mom and human resources, the echo of your sin, your daughter’s cries, something you hope to ignore, if this poetry was a person, so many ways to die, how many bullet-holes, so many main characters, through the valley of the shadow of death, all the plot points, enemy encounters, and mission impossible, but by the grace of the heavens they make it through…

Doll

I'm in a jar, so what, you don’t have to overanalyze all of it, I'm really curious, whether I can simply exist, and the world’s reaction would be nothing, throwing pebbles in a pond, hoping it doesn’t ripple, going through the day, as spirits fill my cup, I'm lazy but I have to do something, I'm just a man, my mom and dad, how did they raise me, as a perspective, among so many ways that god can exist, strings pull, the answers to the quiz, a slave to the moon, good and evil, and art, how beautiful, as the cookie crumbles in each way, why does my identity remain, always hoping for peace and death, just a puppet, don’t think too much of it…