Stolen Centuries

These moments have weight
that you’ll never know; these
daily heroes show what love
can bestow, and the remnants
of us gently vibrate. I’m a ghost
in a shell, that is an endless, hot
hell and we just go round and
around, forever. Straight backed
we do muster, with all brazen
bluster, some hope that we’re
never alone. Stifle laugher
and shout to the wide open sky
that these fires, sweet and molten,
are certain never to die; we build
on clay, dust and bone.


We’re in need of a hand
to raise the roof when it’s warm
to raise the day when the sun starts its waking.

We’re in need of a way
to understand sounds that otherwise
are deafening and vile.

We’re in need of a shake
when the days no longer break
and the clouds are too close to ignore.

We’re stuck without words
that flutter, fattened like chords,
and sing to the stars in their placement.



Reach up and claw for mischief

and attention.

Preach at the sun while it relays

with each mention.

Seek solace in quieted, muted hot


Peek rudely through wood and

say your sweet graces.

We’re cavalier, dear and we do as

we please.

We’re hedonists, darling, did

you hurt your knees?

Though we wheeze with the wind

that is chocked full of dust,

grow up for the greater, reach higher,

we must.

We are crisp from the heat, though

ravenous still,

she is nervous of me, pecking


there’s a break to the day,

where’s the time gone, to play?