The Monk Pt. 1

we travelled cross-country
bathing in eastern philosophy
selling out empty shelves
to shoeboxes of ideals
the broken gavel fell upon us
one savannah summer night
as you swam into the ocean
the night st patrick died

8-21

i was born a bastard
and lived my life poor
until I wore a borrowed suit
and danced myself clean
to the magnanimous opus
of the capitalist machine

the unquenched thirst
never satisfied

i drank the water
but the water didn't work
so I drank something harder
until I fell back into the earth
the sinking bones of a million empty graves
fall hard upon the innocent
in an unforeseen age
the land swallowed my seed
with screams then gave birth
to a forgotten people
rejected and unheard
falling deep deep deep
into the void of night
a broken radio sits silent
when the violent begin to write
The sounds of solitude and remorse
From our eyes the blinds hanging
the harlot in the open street stands
and gently kisses her lover good bye.