Poems

[Awson]

Or Draining My Head In Rhythm.

...

I am a man raised among hyenas
Cackling at cracks in the world
A glimpse at human ideas
Judgement, quickly hurled.

It's the same machine
The one of hatred
The one of peace
One lets off steam
And the other one saves face.

[Awson]

Slapped away, my hand recoils again
What have I done?
I'll never say anything again.

I've learned some words
Ones that never excite
For if that occurs,
I'm afraid I might die.

What's the matter?
I haven't once spoken wrong
Haven't we shared enough chatter,
To move this thing along?

"There's nothing bad
I just don't really feel that drawn
You've watched everything you said
And so you haven't said anything at all."