american young.

to swallow a sword takes practice

boiled slowly,

every stage

of youth, crowded

and underpaid wisdom

quilting with fabric gathered

from fields where mistaken seeds

were sown before books were kept,

but oh, they were written,

about

rearers desparately rearing

success,

learn either

charging, dislocating for reach, or

hunkered in the

saddle,

savoring or starving for a crib

and comfort in a feeble latch

I've forgotten,

the shouts of living novelty

to calloused whispers.

even still they do not cease,

"it s a ie.. t is a li.. is a lie."

Jan. 31, '05

That's a gnarly one I wrote when I was having my life rocked by a pastor in Gardena. He turned my world upside down, and made me see all sin as rooted in Man's desire to rule his own life. That foundational truth seemed to spider vein out to every aspect of society.