"That people get too reckless
That even with the simplest of crimes
They leave, blood behind"

Evening Love Song

Ornamental clouds
compose an evening love song;
a road leaves evasively.
The new moon begins
a new chapter of our nights,
of those frail nights
we stretch out and which mingle
with these black horizontals.

Rainer Maria Rilke

"The proper aim of giving is to put the recipient in a state where he no longer needs our gift." — C.S. Lewis

"So the poor have hope & injustice shuts its mouth" Job 5 v16

Through our constant striving for convenience, we are eradicating the raucous and edifying beauty of our true environment and replacing that beauty with a safe but completely faux environment. We have a society steadily undoing itself, it might be argued, by its win over resourcefulness. Clever, ambitious and always in search of greater efficiency, we have, created a world of push - button, round - the - clock comfort for ourselves.

The basic needs of humanity - food, clothing, shelter, entertainment, transportation, and even sexual pleasure - no longer need to be personally laboured for or ritualized or even understood. All these things are available to us now for mere cash. Or credit.

'Show up for your own life...don't pass your days in a stupor, content to swallow whatever watery ideas modern society may bottle - feed you through the media, satisfied to slumber thorugh life in an instant - gratification sugar coma...be awake' (Last American Man, Elizabeth Gilbert).

Sleeping at last...

Put your coat on, this city trembles.
Keep your chin up, as you untangle God
From cold blood and bruises.

We are X-rays of something broken.
Cursive bloodlines write every forecast:
An orchestration Of dissonance and innocent surrender.

When our color dies,
We will bury the ashes of time,
And we will earn new eyes.

Wrists get tired rewriting futures.
Our bodies beg us to be creatures of habit.
We are creatures of habit.

Only with careful hands
We’ll turn their fangs into feathers and cures.
Only with careful hands
We’ll divide the prisoner
From the pioneer.
Clever beauty,
Umbrellas folding.
In architecture, our lines will measure
A map to find us.
Blue ink will guide us home.

Cranes are creeping, lifting metal,
We will find new ways to settle,
Tipping scales from the killer to its prey.

I can feel the weight around us,
Climbing every rib inside us,
A sanctuary in a lion’s mouth

At the end of the day, when it comes down to it, all we really want is to be close to somebody.