Wake

Tell all my mourners To mourn in red- Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead. I hate to die this way with the quiet Over everything like a shroud. I’d rather die where the band’s a playin’ Noisy and loud. Rather die the way I lived-...

Song for a Suicide

Oh, the sea is deep And a knife is sharp And a poison acid burns; but they all bring rest In a deep, long sleep For which the tired soul yearns- They all bring rest in a nothingness From where no road returns. -Langston...

Revival

came early with June, each tent a hot angel of healing, the Spirit catching in women’s throats and anointing the lazy eye of an uncle.  You wanted nothing more than for that peacherman from way out west to lay golden hands upon you, making your pain that thing...

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