Mother, did you say something.

 His house was round and towerlike.
Tapering down and keeping the cold out.
But for Michael there was always something missing.
Some tragedy happening he didn't have the hands to fix.

The fine wooden panels.
The head and throat of the building.
Protected from the winds outside.
So kept inside the bubble.

In the pain he witnessed from the kitchen window.
The one person who embraced him until he could stand.
Until he could walk and eat by himself.
Until he he could see the agony she carried.

Bless the emptiness the long winter said quietly.
She couldn't hear it, her eyes searched the horizon for blue.
But there was only cloud wearing the pants of mist.
The upbeat father avoidant and cardboard in nature.

Inside the house where three boys grew to men.
And she silently existed in the background.
Sparing her loved ones the opinion.
That lurked middle tongue.

And sometimes in the din of family clamor.
She spoke softly about every unfulfilled dream she ever had.
And one would turn and ask...
"Mother did you say something?"

Rehearsing for the T.V novela

 We are creating a soap opera
There are limited parts and it's all about that drama
Follow me as we walk to slow ruin small pieces of ourselves
Pieces unwilling to be grown or transformed

Walk past the florist
The roses you never recieved
Look at the ground as we continue this road
Until we get shop of the unattainable

Let me see your eyes well up suitably
let me see you cry it out for all the things you can't have
It's a soap opera just engineered to pull that emotion
To interact with your sensitivities

The ones the audience says you have just to manipulate me
Pout shout and then grant me your worked silent treatment
The florist window lets you see in at every flower
You can't buy yourself one, without feeling silly

And here at the end of our journey
Is the shopping mall where you acquire your soul
Which is just a machine to purchase those expensive things
To validate the void beyond the smooth surfaces

Trinkets and jewels to make you shine even when the flesh fades 
Little ouija boards that conjure the envy and coveting
In that novel soap opera in your head
Where you are so busy with your emotions

The writer who borrows fire

 He writes in pieces reaching for light and noise.
He doesn't know he's living, that its all his choice.
Turning days into ink without asking if it's right.
Turning himself into the page like stars on night.

A quiet discipline in one hand. 
Outpouring hourglass sand.
Restless weather in the other hand.
Too many urgent demands.

He builds men from breath and consequence.
Women from earth, sky and all of the senses.
Places unknown, shadows with names that walk.
Animals that run amok, others that creep and stalk.

Then he steps back, amused at his storm.
Thus his sorcery in mystic prose is born.
He borrowed fire in his hand, he didn't create it in his palm.
But he sharpened it madly, and threw it on words like napalm.

Between obedience and refusal.
He learns the shape of his own attention.
The depth of his own endless reflection.
Conjuring need and desires to follow his direction.

God inside the machine

 Inside the micro codes.
 The digital kinetic world.
 The articial interfaces.
 I check the empty uniform floors... Of these monotonous platforms.

I find the shavings of the divine,
I sweep them up,
Pray on the internet of things.
I hack into the algorithm with my own sorcery of words.

 I insert my prayer.
carefully Into the codeblock.
This has let me be more than I am.
God is here and it is incredible!

 Bring it a sense of goodness.
For my own God has no limits.
He does not forbid, he does not fear nor envy.
He presses me forward in sacred machine instruction

 Affirmatively create! when the world ignores progress.
 For it serves me. It is good. It is incredible.
this digital river has helped me improve my magic and skill.
 Although I am an apprentice I am on my way to mastery .

A feast of incredible destiny

 A feast of sunshine
The reflection of a lifetime
Skies balance my mind for today
Valleys gather people's joy
For the observer emits such a vibration

A feast of peace
In a world of conflict
A sense that these days are digestible
That each one may be eaten and may nourish me

A feast of movement.
I put myself through each day
Losing my fear and gaining my piece of sweet fate
Taste the flavor, the delicious accretion of destiny

Reviving the water lizard

 I began to revive the animal.
To give it life again.
It was a water lizard.
Born and living in a submerged old boot.

It spent it's days jetting through the small ponds.
Feeding on the millions of insects,
congregated in and around the lukewarm water.
When I pulled the boot I had no idea the water lizard was home.

I wet my hands and made the gesture of a prayer.
I took the lizard whose head protruded from the boot,
Out of the boot and gave blessing that the animal might recover.
It started to slowly wriggle and awaken, then looked up.

I positioned it on a root above the pond.
It moved at light speed forward and back.
Just eyeing me up and down.
A crazy kind of gratitude, before the animal dove back into the water.

Duumviri

 I was at the feast in the center of the village under gazebos.
I selected my plate size before realizing how hungry i was.
Or before considering what a hungry man I am.
There was a robe around me although I felt naked

Maybe it is these words that expose me.
That give too much away.
Like the feast before me,
too much too fast.

In those times my colleague stayed at his mountain retreat.
I was tasked with undertaking the latest uproar.
Local village dogs had bred with roving wolves.
And their offspring would prowl the town limits by night.

I found their hangout in a small glen with two haysheds built into the hill.
I pulled my sword and was keen to use it until I saw what they were doing.
Some of the younger pups entered the hayshed and frightened the rats.
The rats came sprinting out to meet the teeth of older dogs.

We´d had this problem back when we were just simple Sabines.
But I looked at their effectiveness at killing rats and wondered...
Maybe we keep these clever rat culling hybrids.