For My Children

Sometimes I hook my thumbs
Under my eyelids and flip out
My eyes to dunk them in water
Like tea, to drink up what I see

The blue tea tastes of tears
Like childhood First-aid
Like father-less afternoons
Like cherries to ripe for pie

And I take my tear tea
And spill it in rivulets
Into white-cubed trays
to freeze, for my children to taste.

Fighting Old Men

I'm here to fight the old men
for the title but Ol' Hank has
still got his dukes up

I won't try, I'll just fly
and I'll swing and I'll cry
but Hank is still hammerin away.

He hammers and he types
and he drinks and he fights
and my edge is alright
(yeah I'm ready to cut with a blade)

yet unlike those men
who sleep away in stone boats
I've gottum on the ropes

I'm ready to choke
them with words of the living,
they're still all dead

They're still all dead
they're still all dead
don't try.