there are always flowers,
love cries, or blood.
someone is always leaving
by exhile, death or heartbreak.
the heart is a fist.
it pockets prayer or holds rage.
it’s a timekeeper.
music maker or backstreet truth teller.
baby, baby, baby
you can’t say what’s been said
before, though even words
are a creature of habit.
you cannot force poetry
with a ruler, or jail it at a desk.
mystery is blind, but wills you
to untie the cloth, in eternity.
police with their guns
cannot enter here to move us off our lands.
history will always find you, and wrap you
in its thousand arms.
someone will lift from the earth
another will fall from the sky
through the knots of a tree.
chaos is primordial.
all words have roots here.
you will never sleep again
though you will never stop dreaming.
the end can only follow the beginning.
and it will zig zag through time, governments and lovers.
be who you are, even if it kills you.
it will. over and over again
even as you live.
break my heart, why don’t you?