Tuesday, November 18, 2008


Artificial thunder
Is not better
Than the real thing

It happens more often
And simulated damage
Is worse than
Organic hurt

If only the world
Would stop fighting
The reins of love

Everything could be
As pretty as
A regular life span

A crown
Is always a symbol

It represents
The will of some
Over the will of others

Monarchy vs ambition
Wall Street vs royalty

Destined to fade away
Like caprices
Of our tender age

I invoke you
Christ the carpenter

I beseech your working class practicality
Your holy simplicity

Oh how many tables & chairs you have built

Oh Craftsman of my spirit!
Master of my Mexican soul!

The times I have worshiped you
Your fiery glance
Was better than a thousand crowns

Numerous times you appeared
Sitting comfortably amongst the poor
As I admired the fine workmanship
Of the furniture

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