war is subjective

'never be too good at not getting caught

it might not be good for you'

never understood it when it was said

but now i am living it thick

and it is obvious now

cinnamon smoke

it starts softer than a prayer

more subtle than morning

and is what few want to believe

... .thurlo.

nobody knows

i never knew nothing

that water just kept creeping up my ankles like history

i ran out out of that flooding house grabbing life

absorbing what i thought would keep me alive
and keep me from crying

but that cement hill road that i never drove north

that cement hill that never gave me a reason to care

i ran towards that fucking hill holding my little treasures

i ran holding in one hand the blood and history and truth of my ancestors
and in the other the last death before dying

and it was only april...

some little downtown bookstore around 10 a.m. a few years removed

from the back of my metal plate

held in my hand that stretches in between these bars

i can see the scratched and dull reflection

of what i now consider nature

a cute idyllic glassy eyed shrine

where the air inside is lit up all amber and gold

a sanctuary within a self imposed prison

a spectacular garden surrounded by ice

... .thurlo.