We sit in the ashes of all the tragedies of our fathers and grandfathers and wonder how we ever got here and can't imagine the tragedies coming to us oh god the blood the millions, billions of lives snuffed out for somebody to be right and still we say that our children have it wrong that things were better when our fathers and mothers were the largest ones in our lives we want so desperately to cling to something and what if we found out there was never any wisdom there just a guess and a shrug and to shut up and keep going over the hill surely we won't have to shower ourselves in blood once we crest this rise and still the blood pours on, and on, and on, and covers us. We were born on this hill, born into this torrent of blood. Born into this gout of pain and suffering. There is always the crest of the hill, and us, the blood.

Tangled up in sheets stained with sweat smelling of loneliness lost regrets and enervation been at a low elevation need that clear mountain air the pines the wind watch them bend on the highest peaks it's been too long I go in streaks I wave I stand the hourglass pours down sand and someday I'll lay myself down to die. I'll bend down to the water and slip into that glacier stream, and no one will wail and scream and I'll drift down coldly without a sound the universe will end and the stars will fall and we'll all be done and gone and it will have been far too long since the sun sang and called us with her song and we'll rise up out of the water then together at last after the end a glowing river of fireflys I don't trade in pretty lies I trade in lead I trade in words I trade in lightning and fire and molten glass I am lava I am thunder I am flash I am all the things that have past. I am the living end and I am your long lost friend I am tired I am weary I am Monday morning dreary. I am the things that cannot last I am the truth hidden in the past I am the future I and the present and I am ready for spring.

Untitled: 3 AM

From the depths I awake in a flurry and the flames lick my feet. The world is undone and Paris is burning. That beautiful face that launched a thousand ships, oh Helen! It's burning! Rome is ruined and scattered and her pillars are torn down and tossed in heaps. Oh London! Ah, me, your warrens too have burnt and now blow in the wind with the rest of the ash. From dust to dust. Ash to ash. Perhaps this is the fire in which we lay down at last. Oh my love. Oh at last. Paris is burning. Rome has fallen. London lights the night with her pyres, all is lost and we are done. Undone. Down into the endless depths we dive and this all was nothing but a dream.