A particular hint … a strand
of time … of space … of sand …
a grain of salt … a hearth … a heart …
a halo … a pass to heaven …
a path of gold … a strain
Hollow out the center of my chest
and place a kiss … a breath
I will take away your innocence if you will give me back my shadow … that we may dance in the darkness together.
I will slay salvation with a whisper, and you will cry me a river of wine … that this lust may drown in desires of flesh.
I was born to be a harbinger, but forgot the message somewhere along the way. I thought I had something to say.
These are the lines that smell of boredom. This is where the sacrifice of truth is burned in times of war.
This is the score being settled. The zombie culture is dead. Door nails and bombshells and carnage raging completely. This is the bet being raised.
A recording of the reading I gave at Shorter University last evening can be found here on SoundCloud. It was a pleasure to spend time with so many friends and great artists from The Southern Collective Experience.