perilsofbeing

i leave here with a pre-apocalyptic warning and the cycles of nature. seems rather ironic? not really. i dont even know if my online journal here will survive my monthly break from the shutdown. but hmmmmmm it feels wierd to type words onto this page and let everyone track them onto their brains, so let my voice be heard and (and i do like the pink borders )i might pay the cash money to keep it alive so i can post some fiction.
anyway. my first poem used to be longer, but i cut it down right when i posted it because i like short poems. enjoy the enjambments. im gonna go eat some baked cheesy cheetos and cheesy macaroni while i play Spartan X


Nothing and Something Vs. Us

empires built of bricks
contain zeros and
ones.
The safety of technology
rises, falls, and
lie, its so simple.




Prospect, Oregon

We found a neglected house, filled it with amps,
and loud guitars.
Weeks, hidden away in our outpost,
we searched for a new sound
to nurture.

Chords danced around, bottles
captured rain that echoed sounds
of nature, our ancient
influence.
Sometimes we played soft songs on the deck,
just watching the forest shift.

Empty liquor bottles, sheets of dirty lyrics,
broken drum sticks, and cigarettes discarded
all over the floor.
Our power descended,
the woods wanted us out.

The drummer lost time, guitars detuned,
and bassists cant play alone.
It all caved in,
and It was loud in that house, I cant hear anymore.
But I can see now, it wasnt childsplay