the blue chirping bird
sings whether anyone hears.
a prayer from the soul.
fire
sour bit
bitter leather bit.
my daily bread, resentment.
burning sour pit.
yellow fellow
good morning sunshine.
yellow tongue nuzzles my face.
faithful companion.
deep well
the babbling brook weeps.
no one comes to drink of late.
yet the well springs forth.
take fight
they take the pound of flesh.
they leave you with the bloody scab.
these are the days of the lion hearted.
these are the days of the meek mice.
they run us long.
they run us hard.
our burning throats.
our heaving lungs.
the whip cracks.
splitting skin.
the heaven’s weep.
the wet rain falls.
these are the days of jackal men.
these are the days of carrion corporations.
these are the people with broken backs.
these are their children’s red rimmed eyes.
the flesh is gone.
whittled to white bone.
the skin is chaffed.
but a hide of worn leather.
and the soul yearns on.
burns on.
the warrior stands and steadies his quiver.
the bow bends taught.
sprung to fight.
a release of the quarrel.
justice takes flight.
left behind
a river runs red
over gray asphalt gravel.
limbs loose and forlorn.