"ia"
I muster up to say,
"Salt shake, earthquake, which way?"
like a blanket spun with the muscle in my mouth.
With bellyaches you state,
"My gate, no fate, I wont wait!"
more like a cake set at the table
in the spot for the green beans and mashed potatoes.

The hammer and the gleam of fire hot-enough-to-smelt
made us shutter terribly with every stroke that fell.
The shouts we wove and wore as coats;
up from our throats, came bitter notes:
We held more close to our ideas then we did our friends,
and those we said we loved
only meant as much as the office or position held
in relation to ourselves,
a compass bearing survival.


Now you're armor in the corner.
This whole place makes me wonder.
You can't help but defend against bows who lay long unbent.
And that burden we now share, welded ardently;
teared but ever tangled;
tied though
separately.

Love, not me but a suit.
Love, not me but a name.
Love, not me but the wild we'd tame.
Making doors out of branches,
dressing up nice in the woods like we own the place.
Love, not me, no it's a dream that puts your head back
north searching for that star. To whom you wish,
"Send a pair of eyes, single visioned, script reading.

Come lay down mortar. Come breaking bread.
There's oil for the lanterns, and hope for the dead.