They Keep Coming

Im just like the moonlight

Ill keep you up all night

But when it gets too bright

I leave with a bow

Now I sleep with shadows

Vague faces I don’t know

Keeps time from goin slow

When your on the road

A white bird in a green forest is a danger to itself. Stands out. Shines. Builds

up inside. Like it’s dangerous to cry while driving or to talk to strangers or to

stare at the sun and a thousand other things

we’ve always heard

people who wear white see better at night, though they gradually lose this

trait as they age.

-Cole Swenson

Ed

I seem to wake

and sleep ambiguously,

to see and misconceive,

to feel on the brink of something

that doesn’t end, beauty

that is more than beautiful,

meaning that is more.

-Brook Emery

The New Parthenon

History piles onto itself.

Some rooms are built to hold sculpted-sand.

To preserve traces of faith in ourselves

A fellow broken at the nape,

ribcage of famished stone

Immortalized and forgotten

The plastic placard suggesting vague dates

It has weathered two thousand years of dust

For what?

Fleeting seconds of greatness?

A legacy that stretches far beyond its models life?

The man whose face was sculpted would cry to know

That his identity is the least important part of his stone likeness