Day 123

more work outside today. i've come to enjoy weeding and raking while barefoot.


[rust]

i've been compared
so people stare
secretly the secrets shared
that none are meant for me

the whistle sings
and all they bring
is the strife they put before the springs
of life they've dried and tossed in the sea. humanity.

crooked houses cannot make straight
the falling hammer on a metal plate
each looks at man, yet none are great
of life they've dented from made shiny

excuse my fist, it's no longer holy
righteousness rolled away on the king's most lowlies
anger's cry is no longer lovely
the crier's cries fall ever softly

so i punched the eyelids of their empty kind
he swallowed the tin whistle and killed the mastermind
now the common man, without his common grind
is sometimes extraordinary


but none of this is meant for me
they've dried up and tossed into the sea
the life they've dented from made shiny
now the crier's cries fall ever so softly


tears bubble and turn rusty



.4-28.08.