Owe

Throughout my life
The main fear among many
Was that I
Would lose control
And that my brain
Would be too far gone
To even recognize this
That fear still exists
As does my life
Yet this admission
Out loud
Only becomes a flaw
Vinegar for exploits
A wound ripe for picking
By those who want me
To bank up goodwill
To cash in
With gratitude
When all of this
Becomes routine enough
To survive me
And my fear

Owner

Forged from the pyre of the kiln and urn
Space to retire for the kings adjourned
The irons in the fire of the keys unturned
Sovereign leases mired in the builders’ blood

The living entombed in catacombs of rooms
Diggers exhume tomes from mere air plumes
History of the doomed booms “soon, yours will be hewn”
The guest will sequester the land of the possessor

Trapped its visage, all sparse and vacant
Wrote my name, drew art, carved out clay dents
It’s now mine, walls have signs from me and my agent
Call the police, or at least a priest, to exorcise the vagrants

Forged in ink on papyrus and then copied
Earthmover armed at feet of regime lobby
The rebar unbundled, sits nearby sloppy
Bloodletting begins where the next mall will be