A Dream can Die

like a moth

floating in flame.

Ideas Die

like Dementia.

Magic Evaporates

like water, after the fog is burned away.

Dungeons of our Underground Desires

brake open

like demons from hell.

Do we want to keep them prisoner?

Hell No.

The Rock Band

of our Rock-N-Roll Lyrics

Demand

Obedience.

Keeping the Music Inside

is a Man

with bongo-drums playing

and no sound escaping

his silent room.

Speakers on full volume

Red-lining.

An airplane that falls out of the sky

like a wounded bird

or an angel

that no longer wishes to be heavenly.

The alcohol calls to me—

the substance, I can give myself to

no substance, requires substance

no inspiration, makes demands…

and in the quiet

I scream for more.

Turning up the sound

hearing static

is terrifying.

What will I do

when I’m alive

and dead

at the same time?

The scarecrows of belief

keep the crows away

and their insides

get blown away

by the sorrowful winds of seasons.

Nothing, but what we see

frightens me.

The stars have winked

for centuries.

To turn the lights out

is real fear.

I want to get to know this life inside of me

by asking questions,

rather than pulling it apart.

My butterfly doesn’t scream

when the magnifying glass burns its wings.

The cold world laughs

like a freezer.

Our warmth

is the glow

we know—

that ember

we won’t let

go.