Listening to Nu Goth on Google Play Radio

Like Grass, we grow aiming at the Sky

some tall, some green, some dead,

some alive. Look-alikes. Narrative tales

we sell ourselves short of the truth, of the creation

of beautiful things, of dreams

long ago. Agnes came, cried a folk tune

beating it

out on the backs of

bows.

“You look good” in leather, in bars, in hotel rooms,

dripping in golden feathers and the crowns of Queens.

You say you are terrified, you want to be born again

on the shores of your brain's own protection. The lies

we spin to cover our sins are hiding in that village we left

long ago. It was in your nature to be inviting. Welcome

to the Kingdom of Waiting, to the Ends

of Our Lives, they say as

they smile and hand over deposit slips. Humanity

incoming.

If I thought it would be polite, I’d compare your voice

to a Clearwater ripple, monotone,

(gently)

abrasive, when you say “I am terrified.”

I see fear in your eyes. Have I drank too much

(not enough)?

Is my heart not thumping in rhythm to the

pound

pound

pound of

run, run, blood? Can't you see

there are “lions in here,” and

they don’t want us to succeed?