Eric Cockrell Poems

a lot of things i can change...
the coffee filter,
the trash bag, the razor
on the sink.
...

the prison door clangs open,
the man in me set free.
with nothing left
but the clothes on my back,
...

liturgy....
black coffee,
old hands opening boxes.
sweeping the floor
...

break a string...
you string, and re-tune.
play when you want,
play all night.
...

i've had half a dozen
or more sets of people
come in today talking
about going back to a
...

you cannot define me,
put me in a box.
you cannot restrain me,
cannot mold me, or shape me.
...

i will not be a part
of your wars!
keep your oil wet,
blood stained fingers
...

shivering nails,
black and white coffins whisper.
bodies without heads,
strewn in the sand.
...

what we look for is something deeper
than what we call love... if love is
the taste, we long for the substance.
we run afraid of the dark towards the
...

we who would liberate,
must first feel the
hungry cry of freedom.
must feel the homeless
...