Deafened Ears settle on empty cries.
There is a chunk of serene
on the other side of this rope bridge.
Sarah's clawing up the sea rocks
fighting for her love songs.
The yellow-faced smiley pins
on Jacob's side-bag bleed bruise blue
out of their dotted eyes.
The lashes on his conscience
would put 1860 through a lot of embarrassment.
His head is a broken trash compactor.
There isn't enough blood in their veins,
not enough fire in their forest,
not enough art in their design.
It's like that feeling when you punch the ocean
with all the fibers of your being
and realize for the first time
that there are no tidal waves.
They just want to jump
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