These are poems I wrote a while ago, but still like.

-Witch Hunt-

The desert shoelaces formed a fingernail noose to strike down the wicked
whose forgiveness was burned at
the raised stake of a five ace table
with broken wings.

And the ceiling collapsed on their pagan rituals,
sending fear through their temporal craniums
like the end of an era
Lo que era
lo que era...

-Concrete/Bridge-

"I'm incapable and inadequate..."
said the bridge to the concrete
"and I can't fake it any more...
I can't take this any more."
And the gravity of the situation
broke the glass of the dome
broke the black to go home
and a sheet of unblinding white
greeted the Prince at his remise

-These Things Tend to Work Themselves Out-

Running through the box maze of pig iron cutouts
The point escapes you but the sprinting can't halt
and the haste of your life was nothing in your eyes
but the ventricles and atriums would never start

but don't worry, these things tend to work themselves out

and your shoes looked so lovely on the hardwood desert
with your dilated high times dimming the spotlight
all of their shadows cast aside like an automatic writing
on the fringes of a frozen corpse life

but don't worry, these things tend to work themselves out

when the sanctioning collapses under the weight of it's own skin
loving bone crumbs tumble down off of their mountains
and you're left with a dull throb in your pulsing madness
to pass the time until you can keep the without within

but don't worry, these things tend to work themselves out.

-Do I Remember Correctly?-

The broken string flashback had a soldier's accuracy
toward the red tunnels of vitality.

Truly death knows it's place among the other phases
but life does not.
Life knows only of it's own importance.

And if memory serves correctly
you are a regular.
And that is your stool.
And this is your order
And she's
your favorite server.

She told me she was an artist
of silver and crimson.

She told me you were
her inspiration.

And you told me that
you carry an umbrella for the fallout.

And that your house is made of broken records.

And that your father hung himself
with a watch chain
that he may or may not have given you.

Do I remember correctly?