Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Any Given Sunday

From the tops of electric mountains
Our status has risen
WE are risen 
With a click
And tap
Upon the glass of houses
Built upon strokes across keys
Boats across oceans
Hearing the rap
Of god's whip upon their backs
Each crack swallows us whole
And we click and tap
To words we don't understand
And dig our nails deep into the sound
Of our own falling
Digging in deep
Heels pressed against faces
Filling mouths with broken teeth
And the taste of freedom
Boots dug deep into rib cages
Pushing dirt into lungs
To stop them from breathing
From filling up
God is in heels of boots
The spines of books
And the men that fear them
Salvation is in the slaughter of children
When the become men with crooked smiles
Wearing the weight of crowns
To bury what they have done
Tapping toes
On the dingy floors of  hearts
Keep on dancing
Ticking bombs in throats
And ticker tape parades for gods behind glass
It is, after all, what we've asked for
To be risen
Lifted by the holy words of men
Who only hear god in their own voices

For One Shot Wednesday at


  1. Vivid, impassioned societal comment that covers much ground through the violent underpinnings of poem. Excellent work, D.C.

  2. "men who only hear God in their own voices"...powerful poem with words that bruise us with reality...your analogies are cleverly and creatively set in motion to create an amazing intensity throughout your poem...i will read your poem again, and each time gather more insight into life dangling by a thread...great write...

  3. dang. vicious write...salvation is...a frickin tight line...speak it man, cause i want to hear it...

  4. Powerful write...your words definitely linger long after being read.

  5. Powerful, powerful poetry. This one haunts, probably because it's true to life.

    Excellent. It's not some rambling, unorganized diatribe, it's essential poetry with a fundamental 'you are there'.

    More than some excellent lines.


    Lady Nyo

  6. your poetry always has an intensity which makes me true what you say and yes i don't want to hear god only in my voices. this was excellent dustin

  7. The surreal Easter poem and up from the grave we arose and we have the faces of victim and conqueror merging in life through crooked smiles and crested teeth. Here all devils and angels danse macabre as the world falls in ashes and the innocent die. Hard stuff and true. Keep your intensity. This is worthy of an original Magritte! Carry on!!

  8. Thank you all for such amazing comments. Your support and continued reading is very humbling.