I keep death in the backseat

I keep him in the backseat

Racing across bridges

Within arms reach

Breaking borders

Bisecting dawn


I keep her in the backseat

Slowiy pass         flash blues-and-red

Withering within arms reach

Fixing perfection-built castles

Where now?


I keep it in the backseat

Nestled close to unwritten pages

Close enough does damage

Dont throw any more stars on my ceiling

Thing's ain't got stick like that no more


I keep death in the backseat

maybe just for me               or you 










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rolling thunder

i remember being little


and going to viewings,


thinking about how the casket

always looked so comfortable


and soft, with it's satin lining


and soft satin pillow. the


bodies always looked


the same, just asleep,


and rather peaceful.



catholic viewings were


especially boring if


they chose to say the rosary


in the heavy, thick


atmosphere, with


intervals in betwen the


occasional nose blowing


and sniffling of a


weeping relative, or


wailing hysterics of a


child or mother overcome


with sorrow while being


forced to face the reality


of the situation.



today when i hear a


motorcycle pass me


it sometimes brings


back the 'rolling thunder'


of monotone voices


saying the rosary...



...except without the


weeping and wailing.






11:11 PM 5/8/2013 ©

Author's Notes/Comments: 


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