Without the Speaking Moon

                          when truth made the nation to see despite the dark
night was freed of its rapist.
she'd wailed about the heros crushed and shipped out,
                                                                     unloaded in the in-between
                                                                 always splitting sight from sight
                                                                 the moon gouged of its tongue

Riot

                         there is a riot in my chest
no longer the muffled discontent of one renegade
                                                 soap box
          but a chorus
      thousands strong                              singing in burning
                                                                  streets
                             their graffitti promises ruin
         they are gods
apocalypse will come from the prose on their tongues
                                   suppression
                                  is their opiate
                                            they greet the fist of discipline
                              with bloody grins
                                                     from the city they call out their king
I know this, you see,              because
                            there is a riot in my chest.

Blades in the Earth

only blades in the earth know secrets
peaceful as these.