inter-connection, the cables hold true
distant and ancient erections molded
the razors cut through the enigmatic distortions racial and religious contortions
familial ties strian under intellectual reclamation
the ties that bind us
the blood that blinds
the emotions that find us
the anger that grinds us against the metal and stone whether its the meat or the bone
sanguine murder, corruption or sainted acts that atone our separated form
fear and alone
in the streets or at home sweet home
we declare our right to decide that a moment can take it all away

just craving to stray from the bleek of the norm
a repetitive ritual to ward off decay
and shake off the barnicles of a ship docked in harbor
the captain reluctant in the presence of foreboding clouds
the turbulent waves and growing shroud of dark horizons
that thunder like hoof beats that usher the twilight
and summon the gods to come out and fight
he adorns a mask unfearful of doubt or surprises
oh, what glorious disguises we cling to
to unlace the sting of our frailty

our halloween everyday now
our mazes spin every way now
our wanderings ever lost now
though not all who wander are
those barnicles hinder our speed
and we ever delay our need for want to the wounds we staunch the flowing, the knowing the portion or desperation
our clouds
our systemic holistic dystrophy
our ebbing tides through the ides of growth and discovery
the treacherous march that connects expression and memory
and through this i smile at our revelry
the connecting telemetry
two men
i masked, you connected ephemerally
how i envy you

deadly sins that taste like candy
we both have a sweet tooth... perhaps the product of mis-spent youth
or malformed disillusion, poorly manufactured conclusions from unindulged passions
we construct mansions and kingdoms that crumble like sand
in the rumble of tides conjured idly by Posidean
turned wild in the heat of conception and a poor state of mind
lacking refuge or haven, the war rages on as lightning is hurled
by fuel-hungry cells, commanding a conscience that longs for relief from the steeples of churches
the chiming of bells that bring believers and saints from flame-stained structures
that withstood the shells and blind agression from a city of angels
i ride the white line on the Metro, shaking and anxious
Taking nothing but solace as i watch it grow smaller
the glow of the lights fade in the distance

training our facade to never tremble when the bolt is hurled
never let your guard down or let the pain unfurl
or let ourselves uncurl as we wait to hurl our notions out the the street corners
the soap box philosophers the coffee house intellectuals and the hilltop mourners
we wait
wondering where our star went gazing up at the sky
never thinking we couldve left it at an apartment
instead we walk back disappointed in ourselves thinking things might get better after weather clears
i never asked why i became myself
this is not the reason i share myself
i put myself out on the street again
like a prison preacher in his element again but no gospel spews forth from my lips
not vindicating wisdom or bolder wit
just another joe sitting out on the row
looking for a roof and a meal he'll never know