You sleep against bones, press against your soul
Until old voices bleed out,
Hold silence by the throat,
Until you can hear the stillness whisper
Down the shout;
You could fashion out bullets of belief
Until a point of view laid bare some kill,
Use the bodies to claim your dominance,
If you need a body bowed for your thrill.
You could twist your heart into the wind,
Just to numb it from the pain of being beat,
But beneath the spike within your palms,
Know you’ll sacrifice being able to feel
A kind touch again.
You can excuse and justify any given fight,
Crack your knuckles against the dawn;
Claim victory to eyes that are blind
That you also fall in the exchange;
You can doll up each expression,
Paper doll every truth,
Make some sort of protection
From the lines of point of view.
But if all life is for sale;
We’re swept beneath winter’s kiss,
Where we numb affection into graves;
Then call our callous: peace and bliss.
Ain’t always easy to face the chill
That presses its body against a dream;
But it asks the sun to come back around,
Instead leaving each vow paper thin;
So leave each ghost to speak its psalm,
Then turn your eyes the other way –
You are the soul you earn,
Or you become the price you pay.
Jonathan Douglas Dowdle was bo
Sarah Walko is an artist, writer, director and curator with a BA in studio art practices from the University of Maryland and an MFA from Savannah College of Art and Design. For the past thirteen years she has curated for institutions, non-profits and independent projects, has served as a director of three arts organizations and has been a contributing writer on contemporary art, literature and film for numerous publications. She is currently the Director of Education and Community Outreach at the Visual Art Center of New Jersey.