the little words


back again, with pulse.
Another dose, with neverhelp, 
and to what edge does the ending come
if never-touching is what to become.

So when we write, we do it right
and then we ride, and never fight
the hands that wring, sing tra la la 
and nothing feeling is summer fun. 

To each of us we owe a reckoning
but which of who will step up 
to gain. 

The Winter Is.

The winter touch does one of 
and each of them is a coming-up from. 

and to the climb that becomes the wrists and hands 
as well as the feet and lungs 
which hardened the fingers that grab
to hold the cliffs that at most 
are one-at-a-time-let go's 
let go. 

do hold on, If you don't, I'll let them know.

It sure is  colder now that the winter has come. 

Stick on the ice.

the world is different now
around we go,  around we go
every spin,  watching out
duck down low,  duck down low.
I've climbed the highs, drudged the downs
kept my balance
while it all worked out
until here and now is all we have
and I know, front to back, only that
is all it's ever been
why was there ever a thought of anything more?

there is no exit here.
there is no light at the end of any tunnel
there is only the time we haven't spent yet
that we can't trade in for the newer model.

keep your tires on the road
your stickontheice

and you're bound to be alright.

I guess.

A small amount at a time.

an alarm is waged
and the fire is the same
come up from here
come up from here
there is nothing to be changed
but the wired and the brave
come up from here
come up from here

The final place to be washed away
is to come up in, to the whirling wind
while the steps down to, 
        where we've nothing to do 

and I'll make my peace in that place.

Come up from here.

The blown-in wind.

in turpentine I find myself washing all my hands
in a world to bring the breathing in 
                and share it with my friends.
its a sight to see the opening that never will begin
when the waiting meets the coming wind, 
                just hold on while you can.

a gale will blow as fingers cling 
like grains of falling sand
one by one they all let go 
and pile up where they land
the send-off, that in advance was planned
  is rushed now, and gaining pace
where then, do you put the words
when the words each have no place.

one by one
they become
nothing, but an annoyance.

New BlackPowder.

It has been a long climb through the snow
down a road I know so well
that I have known my entire life
but have never seen before tonight

to a building so cold and small
with walls my family calls home
my dad is there keeping it warm
and always has been, to kept the harm at bay,
that otherwise might make it in 

        I feel a regular amount of familiar
with my cold and wet feet below me
as I approach the closed, but welcoming door

of a home that I know will keep me warm
so long as I adjust what it means 
        to be kept warm

What I seek, I will have it there
at the place on the other side of the knee deep snow
where I arrived at by coming down some overgrown roads 
that on a map, didn't even show

but in my mind, and my heart, and the forefront of my being
I will always understand 
That this will be the most comfortable place that I can get
without doing it on my own. 

We will kill animals to eat here. 
We will buy bullets for now,
Until I learn to craft the black powder myself

Another Gut Feeling.

The landscape that I have never seen before
is dark dark dark for the valleys
and bright bright bright for the fjords. 

the hills that come around it all 
                    should be seen by all. 

gather up, put your dukes forward
and we together will conquer the world
hand in hand, friend in arm
we will conquer the world. 

Without this hope we never could. 
    from here though, we stand the most solid chance.
    we make the most strongest stance. 
                While we brace 
            with the most powerful branch
            with every arm out holding each other up. 
I should have told you from the start 
that I knew how this would end. 

ready your dukes. 

Dont let the trust out.

A change is baked into the everyday of ways
       that things will never stay the same

And so we try to stray, but pulled back we become
I'll twiddle my thumbs while I wait to see what takes place

The avenue we came down on is not the one we might leave
but different roads for different folks,
different roads make different forks,
and different forks, well, you know.

The undeniability of the difference
is that without anything not being the same
you must understand that someone will eventually need to take the blame.

And I call not-it.

Arose a fire.

Arose a flame,
a rose of fire
and the liars lined up to see the burn.
The world got worse under those years 
that kept us all inside
but we survived, et tu divide
and no longer do we rely
on the old paths that we still ride
in the hope to hear that our climbing fears
are stronger, making us still.

As is something ever will.

A Weirdest.

To when do we come up, it never is
but breathing gets colder as we near
and closer gets our fingertips, while we do
one by one-est, hup hup hup
we arrive in line
a single file good time 
rivaled by none. 

So the closing door 
that I keep open with my one good foot
is a walkway to somewhere once upon a time, back then. 
In between comes things that I never did know that I could want
But still become anyway

The rungs that those good feet leave behind 
are one step closer to the earth than we are
as we walk far from the free world that holds us down. 

hup hup hup climb.