j    a    tyler

All These the Violent Children ( An Episode of Duration )


It does rain and it is raining and there is rain and rain is what is coming down.

These are children.

The rain is nails and the rain is hammers. The gutters fill. The wells. The sidewalks are cracks from falling tools. The streets are pin-cushion metal.

The children in the rain see a moving picture. The moving picture is like a movie. The movie is like the sun. The sun runs hot and then explodes. When the sun explodes the moon is broken. When the sun explodes the plants die off. When the sun explodes the children they become children in empty classrooms with nothing left to learn.

The sun does not shine. The sun is behind clouds. The clouds are in front of the sun. The clouds are surrounding this their children’s school. The clouds are a blanket that doesn’t keep warm and doesn’t protect and doesn’t store any of the dreams that float above the children’s heads when they attempt a life.

It is raining. There is rain.

The children are in a building and the building is in a city and the city is in a state and the state is in a country and the country is in a world and there are no teachers in this place. There are no teachers in this building. There are no teachers in this city in this state in this country in this world. There are children. The children dream of candy. The children dream of hacksaws sent from heaven and the ridiculous ability to open each other with them. These are the children that say at night for bedtime prayers Go to us good night and it is raining and we are have been they the us that we are.

These are the children who no longer matter.

These are the children who no longer count.

These are the children who are the children’s children’s children. These are the children of the children of the children. These are the only children that there are and have been and ever will be in here this rain.


It is raining.

This is rain.

The rain comes down nails and hammers and bloodshed.

Crucify these the children. Lay them down to sleep. Knock on the door of their sternums. Cave at the hollow abundance of their eyes. Drive this the rain through their palms.

These are children.

It is raining.





J. A. TYLER is the author of nine books including the recently released INCONCEIVABLE WILSON (Scrambler Books, 2009) and the forthcoming A MAN OF GLASS & ALL THE WAYS WE HAVE FAILED (Fugue State Press, 2011). He is also founding editor of Mud Luscious Press. For more, visit: www.mudlusciouspress.com.

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