Her Eyes Are Gray
03.07.06
Sometimes the world is concrete,
Black and White,
Green and Blue.
Gray is only a mythical color philosophers dream in.
Fidelity warps the mind into solitude and
Love is a goal to aspire to.
No one fights.
Rape is just a bluff to make you afraid of the dark.
And if you pray, everything would turn out alright.
But she, my other half, has already adapted to the weather in Michigan
She is the cold wind that thrashes against your skin
And the sun that drifts between the clouds.
You deserve her good graces today
But tomorrow you are a bitch with no spine.
Gray is now the common cold
And someone got drunk… and laid last night.
Of course God does not exist,
She wouldn’t say so anyway.
Sometimes the only thing concrete
is the chalky sidewalk.
So what do you do when she points out the worst in you?
On the Day After the Weather
03.14.06
Just outside the portal, jagged, burnt sienna bark
Shoots up from the ebony-wet soil.
Tumbling, faded leaves and discarded Styrofoam
Grace the skirts of the mast.
The thick, stone slabs serve as an altar
To this empty, black sprout of death.
And people watch You everyday.
Not without vacancy and indifference,
But they watch you, nonetheless,
Devoid of Fear.
either
03.14.06
you or i
or someone else
must come to grips
with either
this
or that
or nothing else
will make sense
either