Friday, October 17, 2014


"It was common for twenty innocent bystanders to die in an amok."

Common. Can we bear it?
The implication
Of our inclination
To havoc amok?

The lesser angels
Are our nature, nurture,
Trumpets. Music hath charms

That go to war. All drums,
Screamed the Godfather
Of Soul. You are all drums!
The heart beats thunder

Against broken ribs.
The only times we're calm
Are when we're sated,
Or when we're in such pain

We can see the Angel
Whose teeth chew the breath
Turning its back on us,
Or when we surpass

Our death in our rage.
I still believe in calm,
But I'm scared of it.
'Siss im Blud, but no balm.

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