Mega Low Down Megalodon

Older than most dirt you see

I’m here to eat you

Make your arm

Into a soup

Hack at your roots

No telling what I’ll do

Or when I come for you

Great white devil 

Your worst fears come true

Defenses I get through

Think you’re safe when you wake

But I’m right behind you


But why listen to me

I’m just someone who’s ruined it all

From day one

Just learn how to speak

Make melodies jangling keys

Open opportunity

Put in your time 

keep your head down

Get into the game

Capitalize on your youth while you can

Or remain in the dust

From whence you came


You’re dark she said too dark for me

But it’s darkest when it’s deep

Life is teeming at the vents

Toxicity for you maybe

But it’s home to me

I thrive on suffering

I dive in willingly

It surrounds me

That’s when I stop noticing

Try it

You’ll see

What I mean


Scale Independence

I’ve spent so long looking for someone to love me. To really love me, not in common terms or the sparkler of affection, commuter flights of fancy or infatuation turned attrition. A love to light the way home. Not where from, but where to.

I’ve started on so many promising paths, wading through dusky pollen plumes and it’s only when the blooms close up shop for the last time and it’s just hard jaws and sideways glances and hammer toes in fuzzy robes, do I find myself lost. And what am I supposed to do now, you say? Just run away. Dive into the underbrush, choke on thorns, bumbling through brambles and snag your ankle, tumbling downtown in Dirt City.

If you’re familiar with scout groups and wilderness troops, you were taught when you’re lost to stay put, that way someone can find you. But no one is coming to find you. You must find yourself, in the thick of all this mess and bloody tears and bricks in your throat that somehow you made, though you can’t remember when. You breathe again, wipe your eyes. You soak your open sores in oak, and stand up on your shaky knees.

In the quiet terror of this momentous endeavor you want like hell to see something familiar in the blotchy blackness, some splotch of color or obscure letter, some flash out on the periphery of never. But it’s all throbbing darkness full of nothing, and you stare so hard your head bulges and your teeth squeal and in the apogee of an erratic orbit the thousandth time: a pixel out of place catches your microwave array. With pupils wide as coffee mugs, pouring over the readouts again but there’s no sign of love. And you’re lost as before, a wounded deer stotting over your fears towards the hope of something you can’t quite say what, just not here.

You run anyway, thrashing in the moss pit, a no-look barrage of wild kicks at the tangling vines and rocks and twisted roots until somehow at a loss for breath or worry you trip over nothing, floundering on even ground, a salmon in a grizzly mouth, moonlit teeth are all around, little pearls that welcome you with a wool blanket and a stump to sit on. They coo over your torn pants and toast your arrival with mulled wine and it’s not a home but you’ve been gone so long, not more than a fawn when this all started, what do you know about home? So you sit and you drink and wrap your eyes tight until sleep, the thief, comes for your worried mind.

Then everyone, the pearls, the warm, the blanket, even your pants are gone. It’s colder than it’s ever been, a new ice age settles in but nothing looks familiar in the cannonball haze of the blue and the grey. So you’re lost, a-fucking-gain. Somehow it’s worse today, the way everything just seemed alright, the height of your joy become the depth of your decline, the path to your doom, circling the drain of what remains of your sanity, chasing a filmy dream faded in the dawn. And you walk on. Out of the cat’s cradle of fabled rhymes and downed power lines and into the long day alone. And now that you see, you don’t need to believe, the syncopated palpitations cease as the tree grows into each one of its leaves.

The Ballad of Randy Weaver

Picnics in the summer sun.
Idaho family fun.
Big time job for the man?
No thanks, I don’t think I can.
Don’t you know, they’d try again.

Caught me in the trap they set
My dog, my boy, my lovely wife
Won’t be coming home again.
I said no to government;
Take my life, I’m through with it.

What are you afraid of Uncle Sam?
Bought and paid for Uncle Sam?
What’s it mean to be American?
The motherland of last stands
Pilgrim pride, bloody hands
Freedom for all or none?
Stop fighting when the war is won.

Excuse me officer, you’re blocking our sun
Mirrored shades resisting the male gaze
Animus of ancient rage encaged
That story bleeds through the page
The weak cut down before their age
The lion doesn’t share his mates
And so all the more he makes
The lioness’ pride he takes
Until his jaw line breaks
And his grey mane shakes
And the dusty earth quakes
And so in crawl the snakes
To ruin everybody’s day
Take what you love most away
Your hide, your hair, your inner life.

What are you afraid of in this land?
Bought and paid for native land
What was taken from Americans
The mother of all last stands
National pride, zip-tied hands
Freedom for all or no one
This civilization of war cannot be won.

Picnics in the summer sun
the family all having fun
Ruby Ridge and everywhere
give thanks, take good care
Try it, just try it again