Still Nobody Home

The word is stronger than the sword
but not the gun maybe

the wind in my wings
honor, palm trees, angels inferior
blasting Wagner
Valkyrie – I'll make a mark of it in my little red book
to prop up my mortal remains

in a shitty barracks room.

I've got cracked crazy eyes
a mad desire to fly
Zarathustra's eagle in a birdcage
raging against the bars of a rhyme

flickering electric light
not-so astounding second sight
and a prized possession
I'm not worthy of

(not worthy of)
(not worthy of)

Words that make no goddamn sense
shrapnel and chopsticks
bullets and stones
a tower that rose to the heavens
to commemorate lost souls

sand in my hand

and I'm still standing here
waiting for it to matter.