Catastrophic

Things break
Or they're already broken
Most times
You can't just empty out your pockets
Most times
You hope to find
on the clearance rack
a pair of cargo pants
instead

Never Clean

tell no lies
of what damage you've done
all of it lies 
under the sun

was regret
the thing, the cause
or a lost, impossible bet
wonderfully done

don't turn
only sidestep and admit
your immolation 
all too easily won

in your lost conscience
of to and fro
seasons and slates
never clean
forget
where you come from
where no root abides
you do not abide
anchored to your freight

so, lie, lie
do damage, don't run
least you remember
Comfort under the Sun

Exile III

Not broken, not broken, 
Even a hurt away from the grave
Is still a foot upon the clay
Even when we can't forget

It would be good
If you'd be so good
To stay

Maybe we climb the treehouse
Spiders and splinters
Through the branches
The bright, bright day

Shelter, you, me
Of warm things and motes
In the light made of pocket knives
And fancy pens,
Flannel sheets, and sprites

With inside voices
Let's not yell or scream
Weep, mumble, curl and tremble
No masters, no fear, it's not a dream

Can we pretend to be safe here?
Sheltered, something I protect
Cherished, soaked clean
That moment, maybe forget?