by greg beaver-seitz by frank williams
by jake davies
by graham seidman
by bill dentler

Peace Gone to Pieces
by josh vancil

Her heart burst open upon a two foot bathroom floor. She watched her life go by, making up funny metaphor's, they were her last words to anyone, evermore. These warm jets, they spin unlike anyone's seen before, they crash. It'll never be for you and me you see, we're still here and they've made peace with fate and fear, out of sight from so many strange and scared faces they leave behind. . . us. I feel velocity when I'm so low down and way too tired when it's time to go. There must be something pulling me down. lawdy lord. Who's pullin at my toe tips from down under today? Sip'in on sting water, spitt'in mist from my face. I hope my love for you won't make me a disgrace. You'll have to let me know cause my love's long gone so blind. Lawd, so blind, don't you see my peace has gone to pieces, all the land put under such con-creatures. Lord won't you realize sometimes your people don't sleep. If you visit I'll keep you from the crowds, come stay in my house, but this I doubt, since you call it all your own anyhow.

So many sad faces, contemplat'in irreplacables long gone, such a short while ago. All together we watched their souls, soaring higher than ever before, just as they hit the ground. I turn my shoulder to see where my grief has gone-bye so fast. It dipped in and out of the crowd, impossible to chase down, so I figured I'd find other sadness elsewhere, and I did with little digging, but not in the showering tears or hands pressed against horrified ears. I found my grief in what so many say they believe; violence for violence makes peace. I heard it again, until I had too cover my ears, eyes and mouth, a 'no evil monkey' dancing about, until I can't take it anymore. I see vile anger, even hate in place of reason everywhere. If you can't find a reason for the unreasonable, then violence in exchange for violence is all your capable of inventing and evil is all you'll achieve.

Vicious hopeful thrills spilling into living rooms, under doors and into the streets until it fills everyone you meet, up to the eyes from their hearts and shoes, there is where it goes, to kill, all that remains of the brain. Your soul. Vicious hopeful thrills gets what it wants today. There's never a wait where hate is concerned. So why not try it now. See how down low you can go. Bring on the brimstone because you are innocent, right? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. Let she who is willing to trade the death of her child for another baby face, toss the first grenade. Kill to your hearts content. But if you do, remember, it never will be. It's all, just TV. So change the channel, until the world falls out from under your automan of ignorance. Join in the diesel family convoys, get behind your cow-burger and drive it down, till you choke on your own sickening joke that once was life unbound.

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