Ashes and Flax

The dust in my rear view is ashes and flax
Remains of fire wood and totems
Flowers with seed I never turned to oil

Emergingly the brakes feel firm while the gas is soft
The only things that keep sole anchored to the right
Knowing that letting go will lead us nowhere fast
and that fuel and opportunity are rarely both priced well at the pump

I find myself questioning what you taught me of safe journeys
Like locking the doors when I dry too slow or not worrying of flashing light
My fault for mistaking the high school parking lot for a classroom
and the assuredness in your voice for some sign of wisdom

It’s hard to know so much of what I’ve been taught is the reason I like to drive toward walls
Tantalized by the cracks in the brick as if a sign that at proper speed I could break through
Without worry of bodily consequence or the weight of falling stone
Equally it was hard to have noticed how quickly you built new walls around me

You know I’ve grown to hate having your eyes
They make me look tired
They make me look like someone who stays up at night writing poems to calm down
Mostly though they make me look like sad

At least the path of overcoming the flaws in my roots causes me to bear some fruit
Like knowing when it’s time to keep my foot on the gas
Or the determination to gaze past the glamour of silver and gold
In favor of cherishing the sight that is ashes and flax

Lions

We never asked for the screaming
It just busted the windows and came in

A burglar stealing our thoughts
Leaving us with gaps on shelves
A broken mural of men
Trying to paint ourselves

As if that weren’t enough
Those walls, they’ll close in
The people that don’t understand
Will treat it like it’s our own sin

They’ll build up crashing waves
Then bring ‘en down on our clout
Villafy us in their village
And wonder why we don’t come out

They’ll claim we’re the bullet
From their tragedy’s gun
They forget who pulled the trigger
As if their works could be undone

And yet their stance is fatally firm
Our illness is the matter
They climb up like King Kong
Standing high atop their tatters

Oh but they’ll pretend to care
Without action to match word
Turning us into rhetoric
Silencing a voice to be heard

So instead we cling to our pride
Nursing the pain that leaves us crying
But if you took the splinters from our paws
You’d see us stand as lions

Gladiators

A bull whip crack on sunstained back.

An ancient tradition on dusted ground

Prepare for the fate of predictable outcome;

One chance to buy yourself,

One to gain freedom through victory,

And yet a thousand to die on the sand.

Fight for the coin to bring freedom

A chain undone through wealth

Live for the hope of a rudis

Salvation won through glory

Kill for the carrot on the stick

Die for the joy of the crowd