Necessity (intro rough)

Distraction based loaded language instead of peace and prosperity. Winners lose by selection of hyper-violence like politics over climate action. Opaque information angers people that need contemplation. To contemplate, one needs the first seed to see its growth and reverse the course, unless you’re left with nothing but hyperbolic laced like napalm for a fireplace.

Note: Democracy is action. Abbie Hoffman called it street war. Occupied buildings by students call it necessary trespass to prevent greater crimes of violence. A necessity defense. Is it hip to drop students with force like actual war? Death wins when people die. People

Siege Perilous (2nd draft)

A conqueror has come to claim the siege perilous. She sits in the seat that has been saved. A seat that only bears the chosen knight, else-wise, death doth come. Safely seated on the siege of peril, she upends the goblet set aside for the roaming knight. She is a force of esteemed energy, verbose, and writ in gold record, and those that deem it so. Of regal appearance; having accrued steadfast followers-like Rome assuring each civilization has a road. She is haughty; she puts on the air of regality. A dozen of the table round, looks to the proud. A king whose eyes penetrate her armor, claims of genres united, under her guidance.

An indefatigable strider clangs forth, in the full silver vestments of his order. His visor pushed up, a spear in his hand, he spies the siege perilous and is shocked at her stance. “The seat has chosen you?” He asks, the anger dissipates around him. “You have sat on the perilous seat, and your life is not forfeit. You drink the wine offering meant for the seekers; slain in their pursuit of our salvation.” His visor clamps shut, and Kay departs, calling off the guards. The King only stares into the distance and the grumbles turn back to the business of satiating their hunger, for many will be off at the rising of a new dawn. Will the newcomer to the table be welcome? A question that draws the ire of Gawain, still haggard from a green knight in a contest of valor. “May the Lord grant mercy to the combatants, for truth prevails, always, and amen,” the king says, his voice raspy, his crown tilted, a beard grown long, and his hair mottled with grey, knowing events have long been written, of a son that will demand his rightful place. The newcomer at the siege of peril, looks to the world unfazed and ready to strike a mage if he enters and mutters a phrase, “How is it, that I miscalculated.? He then waves and disappears in an instant, his cap of stars left on the marble floor. “A nice keepsake,” says the lady, retrieving the hat, and sitting back. “A seat of peril? I think not,” laughing in their faces. “It’s mine by right of conquest, thus this siege is in my favor,” she says to Arthur. “You best take that crown off, for I’m a lady, at least kiss my hand, dear King.” She laughs. “I’m only kidding, shake it off and be smitten.”

Id vs Ego working title (rough draft)

Rough Draft

Peripheral Lives (fin)

One minute you have hearth and home

The next, a cardboard box on skid row

Must we plead, smile, and say please?

Ever grateful if you sidestep our needs.

Perhaps a bit of history may light the way,

Try the phrase, افتح يا سمسم

But where is the entrance?

Why is my home sealed up, wood in the windows, glass like sprinkles on bare ground still thirsty, and forgotten places of fallen shades.

Vacancies abound in lots of concrete and flattop buildings,

Abandoned and leftover from the bustle and boredom of teenagers in the nineties.

It seems to be a rental agreement on greed versus need

No sweat off my back

Out the door with people, like trash

Cash up front for a space by the dump.

Inside this skull of mine is a mind.

It’s a need, to have dignity and decency.

But the surface walkers jeer at our appearance

They point at the husk we share and

Throw change whilst they mutter obscenities.

Clear Course

A river of spent idleness flows and fills the shallows;

Coursing clear through straights and narrows.

A cool clean balm for the burned and a

Sweet psalm said of our fellows;

It spreads like kudzu tendrils.

Above the petrified sequoias

A bent bow full of our joys and our sorrows.