Table of Contents:
Garden Prayer
I Saw Death Today
Neon Gomorrah
In This Land Where Cash Is King
The Life of a Murder Weapon
Freedom
Don’t
A Toast to Winter
I Saw You
Learning to Smile
Time
Memory
My Name
What Happened to You?
Voyage
Mystery
Lines
Rituals
When I Fall
The Noose
When I Die
Dying Breed
Will You Love Me?
A poem from Nomad:
The Life of a Murder Weapon
I do what I was made to do,
what I was brought into this world to do.
And, sometimes, it gets so cold.
The night air seems to seep into me,
and the clammy grip of my owner –
Hell, we’ve spent so much time together,
been so close to each other that
you could even call him my lover –
is no comfort to me. But in one instant –
what might be less than a blink of an eye
or longer than forever, depending on
whether you’re the one looking into my mouth
or cradling my rigid frame – in that instant,
the cold is gone and I scream out the
flames of eternity and finality
and I do what I was made to do.
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