Let the Words

Trees sway in my mind while I hack and eat away her skin needles litter the floor, green green ferns speckle white light wildly "I am the end," breath pouring over warm peach skin cradled within the nape of her neck Sappho screams into darkness flesh aflame, "A refining fire has made me blind." The Rose of Sharon, a pile of ashes "A kind of beginning," grasp the running river with its weeping willows, "roll with the body taken by the current." Yokes of hunger and need plow spring time fields plump with sin Lilly of the Valley, we kiss and pray upon your luscious leaves. Sappho was a prophet of this avarice.

we'll break the red wagons we rode, screaming down grassy hills, cheap plastic wheels rolling across urban streets Again We'll take spruce boughs and moss, hide in the woods, watching droplets of rain trickle down each others faces Again We'll race breakwater boulders, climb into holes and etch silly odes of love and hate that no one will read Again I'll regret ever wanting to grow older again and again

In determining the evolving application of the 8th Amendment and the constitutionality of the death penalty there seems to be two blatant obvious facts before us. First, there are no mitigating factors of death - there is no reversal, when you are dead you're dead. This is a form of absolutism. The due process of law ends at death. Second, and this seems to be a theme the last two weeks, we all recognize the imperfect Judicial system - there appears to be a wide consensus on this fact. What do you get when you put together an imperfect judicial system with an absolute punishment? Injustice, weather purposeful or not, someone is going to get screwed. Since the re-installment of the death penalty in 1976 over 1,100 individuals have been executed throughout the United States (http://www.deathpenaltyinfo.org/number-executions-state-and-region-1976). Can we, as a rational and democratic society, honesty say that we trust that all of these executions were just? Can we overlook the racial...

Eight, maybe nine, young anyway. dirt and finger nails twilight morning, furnace dying late summer, long days, skin smells of peanut butter and alder leaves Metallic penny tastes, toy airplane, flying silently in hand, pilot child, soaring over silence, breath sleep steady Chipped linoleum, caked mud darting sparrows, grumbling four-wheelers, wispy circles of wind Barefoot grass with dew Let children play in their waking dreams

I made a salad with Washington greens today. Deep pocketed businessmen and pock faced politicians assure me of their healing powers Those who've suffered the yoke of power who've swallowed first world trash who've kissed the marbled asses of corruption aaaa to compete, to survive Who've sucked the sour nectar of poverty Fear not! Dip yourselves in vats of cash aaaa to heal your wounded land and mind Those who've proffered from smiling deception Who've banged the proverbial capital whore aaaa just one more time Who've wielded wealth like a sword, beheading aaaa anyone in your way Who've danced to greed while golden towers aaaa tumbled down Fear not! Dip yourselves in vats of cash aaaa to heal your bleeding pride and pockets A little dressing on these greens gives quite the zing. Swallow down our shallow penance, and pray to god that a trillion or more will save our souls

Having strayed far from art Oh, Marvell. Oh, Donne. Oh, Jonson and Sometime Wyatt, forgive our modern blunt Orgies of words Pastoral shepherds are dead, so much for their snatch of sweetness to dampen their want Pining poets deflowering tulips have been shot for their vague caresses, loitering near the iron gates of life Mowers grip their flaccid scythes in death, forgotten and rotten are their hot July desires No. No need to complain in metered rhyme just to be denied. Give it to us straight and hard We'll take it all the same

Ocean winter water sloshes around my gut. Words feel as slime does just before vomit These markers. Those crayons. I've lost somewhere somehow Cold dew drops on beer cans cursed morning pangs Donne dammed the sun but let it all be over and done These markers. Those crayons. I've lost somewhere somehow Distractions smell of erections tastes of strawberry nipples, dance like colliding flesh and sound of prayer and damnation These markers. Those crayons. I've lost somewhere somehow Days pile upon hours suffocating minuets devouring each second fucking every moment of breath These markers. Those crayons. I've lost somewhere somehow Stalk naked through houses tracing invisible faces upon empty halls, licking their silance These markers. Those crayons. dried up and nowhere to be found