Friday, September 25, 2009



Frana whispers a prayer
in case shit goes bad
she fingers the beads around her neck
moving in silence
a total disregard
for the rules and conventions
her best is never an agenda
she sees so much more than I
into the mouths of open doorways
they open for with ease
so little effort for her success
grown accustomed to the sounds of revolution
she frees a man she has never known
steady in the house of rage
I know my money has been well spent
as I wander eastward toward heaven
pour your wind through me
hold me close to your warm heart
let me see life once again
of only for one night
I am the hermit who rises in the morning
and leaves your door
with the promise of new hope
I fall faster than the cracking shade
down I fall into the tempest
surrounded by the whirlwind of desire
pray for my lost soul Frana
maybe I will find mercy

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Dear Prudence

Dear Prudence

Cursed are the compassionate
Revealing their weakness
Tears behind contempt
Everything is the opposite
Has long been the source
Holy flame of spontaneity
Dumb frittered indulgences
Time froze by power
A glimpse behind the curtain
Oddly Spectral avatar
Mixture of enthusiasm and despair
Prostituted prophet of discontent




The same as it ever was

This thing that still haunts us in the cold dark night

As time starts and stops without reason

Seemingly little happens

Among the weasels and red carpet beggars

The tired dancers working for pennies

Willing weary legs to move

Not to the music but to their beating hearts

Each one dances to a new song

Tempos, one step at a time

We all ask ourselves, when will the music stop?

They say they need a cigarette break

A short time to recompose

Recombining their collective energies

Selling them to the small local store

Dollars they earned in the war
Where dreams are sold in exchange for dollars

Selling chocolate to prisoners

Writing letters to their wives

They told old stories about long lost buddies

That fell before the shrine of world war

Bleeding for democracy

Video commercial, being the just cause

They bleed for you one drop at a time

© 2007 Glen L. Lantz

church bell

Church Bell

I make my home up in the old steeple
It is there that I sing out,
I sing out for the entire town to hear
At midnight on Christmas Eve
When snow covers the rooftops,
Like a warm and heavy blanket
Keeping you safe from the chill

From this perch I watch the workings,
Of the day as it passes by me
Quick to notice the tip of a hat
Kind gesture to a stranger
Hand stretched out to those,
Who need help along the way

Foggy dreams pressed to memory
Children that have grown
Toys, broken and forgotten
Smoke that escapes the chimney
Faded rose pressed between pages

Now my old eyes see betrayal
Sons of man who lie, cheat, and steal
Dignity slain on the altar of profit
More and more grows the desire
My heart longs for yesterday


Monday, September 14, 2009

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

She tallies up the numbers

She tallies up the numbers

throws the words “trust me”
around like a dagger
one night a week
taking out the camera
she says that we can do it here
wants to be frank with you
so full of useful advice
her obvious need
is to consider herself self-aware
despite the uncontrollable destiny
that hangs from nameless walls
panting like a stranger
on all fours
crawling whiskey across
walled up inside
she has a silver agenda
hidden between the folds
simply marvelous
down upon the cold
breathing florescent
she nails it to Thursday
long on the lost side of things
jammed up down below
clever in her sandwich
the crumbs tango across the plate
sitting on the ground
legs stretched out
bathed in dirt black
forgetting everything else
life chasing after her
sometimes with her
and sometimes against her
turning the handle
like mumbling pilgrims
covered in dust
inventions of her mind
true to the vivid
pillaged in the end
understanding the honor
of dime store deals
the real pain
and rustle of god
no one dreams of dark rooms anymore
least not her
she waits for it to be over
ripping out her heart
sandpaper sunshine
maddening stare

© 2009 Deep Piercing Cut

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

your mother of stone

Your Mother of Stone

she walks the earth
her voice undone
up from the depths
wild-eyed and vacuous
as she finds the truth
sometimes inaccessible
skirts the void
dressed in skulls
dangle and clang
from her waist
she dances staggered step
wearing a mask
bleating sacrificial song
enter spirits enter
fill her with your substance
the winged helmet does enliven our discussions
with the leafy green tea
she wanted so much more from you
more than you could give
still you tried
with all your might
and in the failure
I watched you grow
you became the spider of multifaceted dreams
of seagulls that speak in riddles
as they fly on currents of gold
river rivulets of time and space
um, she says
just um
more a grunt than a word
terrified of entangled shrines
drowning in abandon
curious damp happenstance

© 2009 Deep Piercing Cut