bottled up

A drip.
Of hope that runs back and forth,

Touching
sides

-- Sticking --

In the places where it might count.

It is cold,
Brittle and smooth like a

Sigh.

The screw,
Tightly fitted, not allowing air

To penetrate

That bitter
Taste, whilst the smell is sweet.

Resembling

-- blue --
Hope.

heroisch

he came from the Second City,
its broad shoulders nudging him
forward onto the longest journey

they said that he were wicked,
but never listening to them (after a while).
just exploiting the offerings of a

rather cold place. The cold cut him,
with toes he couldn’t feel anymore
he left, but burdens go wherever

the wanderer takes them.
tied onto the back from suburbia
wondering what would become of,

eventually he took to rebuilding himself,
from the top down, learning to grow whilst
terrible burdens remain upon him

the community without the Kaas,
like the city, (all about reinvention),
cold cutting the feet, toes not felt any more.

he had a warmth, a dream in his heart
and a song in his ear,
he knew realities too advanced

for his years. his next turn,
a reverse migration. mapping the railroad
on the wanderings south.

he went for independence, and for a love
that was supposedly selfless
but when that developed into obscurity

he continued to dream,
his nomadic journey brought him
to the idea of the west.

the truest fresh start available
in the young, innovative state,
where flesh meets organization.

the englishmen

the englishmen

are the loneliest at the bar.
staring into the bottles
or at a newspaper

waiting for something
or someone

who is never going to come.

for leah southwell-wright

I close my eyes and remember you
sipping the cold, heavy and sickly sweet
substance, that brought about your end.

I remember you,
like you were sitting here
in front of me,

I remember,
your sarcastic tone,
and your narcassistic and

strangely meek style.

the way you moved around the subject,
and moved around others.

you caused them to spin with confusion.
(and then some).

but you looked on confused yourself.
unsure as well as completely sure.

a social commentator, never a sheep,
a leader to the unleadable.

you were revolutionary.

a legend.

I would worship the ground you walked upon

(if you still walked).