Tenfold Reasons Multiply

confidence in brooms to contain the otherside
the unexplored, neatly arranged, swept into piles for the better times
A swiss-army-knife for half opened passionite ties;
to living amoung the dying corpse, renassance lost in our minds
sculpted thoughts which burst from the seems
could not be contained within the moment from whence first conceived
when born one must walk - for if lost - it may not come back from the fields where the synapse roams.

if we but could build a fire tonight and not have our concealment lost
with complex turns and stars in our shoes we'll walk on air and rediscover loss

3dg3

the year of our redundant theme
waits for the birth of yesterday
lacks an edge or steel for pride
so lowley and beaten and strung from the wire

guards to watch as blood dries
no hope in thy might so they choose flight
no charge for the rage
no widom in ten billion drops of sand
all scattered and spread against the world
blowen by the wind, landing where they can

Places that Did Not match thine eyes
little profit and keys to the signs

To give for naught is the only road

the edge of hands meet in some great plan
deamn't long before stances spread -
across these foreign tongues the words, i love. . .
sung upon the brow of hope - i know. . .

Radiohead - The Diet of Worms

The Diet of Worms

on the Mer de Glace

the child blooms in an empty mind.
oh doctor!
victor!
is this why i tremble in my sleep?
cold carries a disillusioned vein
frozen long after the first glipse.
darkeness in soul who can never fly
you provide the birthday
and i'll provide the skin.

for the deamons amoung me
screaming
into second skin
laughing
a covenant replete with shame.
oh IAm, see, i call thy name
thy guardian of light
see, do i not shine just a bright
as the sea...

the horror of birth
the destruction of yesteryear
the memory of me, as i am no more
than the cold chilling thee in thy final score.

-------------

'Did I request thee, Maker from my clay
To mould Me man? Did I solicit thee
From darkness to promote me?'

- (X.743-5), John Milton's Paradise Lost.

spent amoung the orchards

my time has come, i must leave
don't look back but believe
the spirit of a single word
hangs near a star above
and when your near to closed eyes
return to the place were there is no divide

above a leaf
from where falls the dew
holds its place
as a memory of you

the honeybees and supple veins
the grass below hindered by time

my eyes see impressions of a different kind
light upon light, bold upon brave, torches that guide
one to the bench where i sit for a little while
until i become not but a sign
on a village road, in a wasted place
a guarded state, life piled upon life
til the evening is day and the blank fills in
a guide, a guide but not this sign
tis been torched to the ground
near a now frozen town where the winter never ends.

for your betterment

a footstep toward justice
in the shadows of a monument
place, is all you have
here the symbols sprawl into a padded floor
the funeral and an honest door
to a crowd in court and a thought dimmed word
for what was simply your nothingness
an attempt to desribe the delicate death
of what is, what for, and why it happens thus

your eyes they close,
but you walk some more...
eager for the imperminate
unlike the damage you've done

may

life without deception
is only traveled for a second
yet forever harbored in sunny days
the hair which blows in my face
and the countless remarkable ways
which cut me loose from the noose --
be it the arrow turned to blue --
flung forward, never late and always true
or the sword wielded under cloak and hood
ten men fell in circles where you stood,
perhaps they knew not we were blood?

one could travel for enternity and fail to calculate strength
reproduction is impossible and as articulate as the falling leaf