Category: Uncategorized

You changed my life.
I wish I did the same
To you, dear friend.
My darling, you
Always showered me
With sweet words,
Praising and helping
Me even when I
Don’t ask for those things.
I’m just like any
Other friend yet
I still cherish you
More than the rest.

I wish you would notice me like I notice you.

I love your subtle, witty remarks.
Sarcasm flying from your lips,
And your voice,
How it comforts my anxious heart and racing mind.

I love how you twirl your long brown hair between your pointer finger and thumb,
And the way you look at friends in conversation,
To judge their reactions,
And then smile when they catch your eye.

I love how often you quote various musicals and sitcoms,
Even when I have no clue where they’re from or what they mean.
I love hearing you rant about which shows and music you like,
Because only then do I get an excuse to watch as you talk,
To watch the way you move your hands with every word,
So eloquent and full of ease,
And to see the rapture of joy and comfort cascade across your eyes, and cup your cheeks.

I notice how you scratch at the tattoos on your left arm,
Two little ghosts,
Each with different hats,
When you’re nervous.
I notice how you pick at your nails,
And don’t like the heat,
And how you were overwhelmed by the flashing lights
And loud noises of the arcade we went to one afternoon in June,
Yet still stuck by me,
Because you know I love the claw machines.
But what I really loved was spending time with you.

I notice how badly you sing along to every song in your car,
But I still smile and listen as I watch you drive.
Your hair flying in the breeze,
And the sun capturing your glow in the palm of his hand,
As if you too, were golden,
As if you too, were full of light.

But how could you notice me like I notice you?

How could you know that what to you might be a quick flick of the eye,
Is to me, an endless gaze that burrows deep into my core?
Your eyes leave trails along my skin
With even the quickest glance in my direction,
And your smile is lightning – the twilight that erupts in thunder.

And I miss watching shows with you and our mutual friend,
And how we played Jackbox games on their TV.
You kept putting your feet up on their lap,
And they would get so annoyed.
I miss how I’d stick my tongue out at you,
And you’d do the same,
I miss the countless bracelets and drawings I made for you,
And how we played truth or truth while sitting on bleachers,
With the zwoop zap zoom of go karts in our ears.

And I miss the times we’ve spent in your car.
It felt like home,
You felt like home,
Our friend felt like home,
Driving along the highway,
Music in our ears,
You and our friend shouting out the lyrics to songs I didn’t know,
And me in the backseat,
Taking it all in.

And I hated counting down the days,
To when you’d leave.
Me holding on tight to your stuffed bear,
His fuzz brushing the tip of my nose,
Breathing in the smell of you.
Because everything you do,
Everything you are,
Will always leave me breathless
And wanting more,
Even when it shouldn’t.

But you’ll never notice,
And I’ll never tell.
For I could write you poem after poem,
Draw you picture after picture,
And none of it could ever compare,
To how fast my heart beats to the light of your smile,
And to how much love I have for you.

Yet the comfort and familiarity of it all,
Is what now makes my heart cry,
Like the sweet tears that trickle down overripe fruit.
I miss you so much,
And the red of your car,
The waltz of your voice,
The comfort of you,
Continuously bleeds their rays across the lids of my eyes,
And sometimes,
I still find myself scanning each red car that drives along the road,
Just waiting to see if it’s you.

Why the hell can’t I have clean water?
I said why the hell can’t I have clean water?
Are we gonna turn this into a fight?
Shouldn’t crystal clean water be in sight?
Who knew about emergency managers?
Who knew he was the devil’s ambassador?
As a bureaucrat, it’s your job to protect us.
Not create rust and lead
That causes all kinds of abnormalities and internal
tragedies in a child’s head.
Fuck that…In my head!
And it leads to all kinds of pathogens, which starve for
unique antigens.
I describe my temper as shorter
All I’m asking for is some new world water
I describe my temper as shorter
All I’m asking for is some new world water
Right now, I’m drinking piss
Or something that looks like piss
Something’s amiss
As I fish and dig and research
Clearer water for us was besmirched.
How you saving the State money?
When we find it hard to breathe?
How you saving the State money?
When the result inflects disease?
These are laws against human nature.
When suddenly the State becomes a traitor.
As if someone anointed them creator.
Waiting for the government to fix it can be slow yo’.
Or actually the problem is infectious with the slo-mo.
It doesn’t matter if you’re rural.
The plan is all about systemic poor urban removal.
You charging me for water I can’t drink?
Obviously, you have a PHD from the University of Don’t
of Think.
About the irrevocable harm and symptoms like:
Hair falling out what’s that all about
Back and muscles ache stuff you can’t fake.
Seizures in her sleep, now I can’t even sleep.
Long term heavy metals poisoning that I can’t say how
annoying.
Anemia, memory loss, brain fog and fatigue.
There have been reports of diverticulitis, a digestive
disease.
Chants of you gotta get the lead out
You gotta get the lead out
You gotta get the lead out
You gotta get the lead out
I describe my temper as shorter
All I’m asking for is some new world water
I describe my temper as shorter
All I’m asking for is some new world water
You mean to tell me that if it wasn’t for General Motors-
who complained that, the water was so corrosive that it
was affecting the manufacturing of their cars
That the people of Flint would still be displaying
undrinkable water in jars?
Rusting engine blocks exposed the problem
High levels of chloride was the problem
But if there was no General Motors would there be a
problem?
They threatened to leave the State if you don’t straighten
this shit out!
We can make cars in any fucking State with a doubt!
Man, you gotta cut off that water and switch back to the
Detroit water system now
Or we gonna move our whole manufacturing facility
somehow!
Finally, they have began to indict a few
But the process is so damn slow but you already know
what they were gonna say, “This will take time.”
Not when my friends are dying and it’s fucking with mine
These are inexcusable acts that are immoral and clearly
lack
The ability to right a wrong and get back on track
I say these are crimes against humanity
A psychosis defined as insanity
Equal to a cultural/class genocide that should be tried in
the world court
I say Loretta Lynch, please do your job
Before people assemble on the Great Lawn resemble a
mob
Put the Governor, Director of Water Works, and lastly the
Emergency Manager in jail
Left to drink that nasty shit they define as water with
every meal beginning with no bail
I describe my temper as shorter
All I’m asking for is some new world water
I describe my temper as shorter
All I’m asking for is some new world water

(Church of the Nativity of Our Lord Jesus Christ)

I.

In a small Eastern European town,
A painter swiftly walked on through the square
Of the city, past old roofs colored brown.

There was a metallic smell in the air,
Caused by the rain, once it had ceased to fall,
And there were shallow puddles everywhere.

The steeple of a cathedral rose tall
Above the cold, rigid cobblestone ground,
And statues of saints stood over each wall.

Each day before Mass, the bells would resound,
And summon the townspeople from their home
To gather and worship from all around.

They left their farms, and stopped plowing the loam,
To praise the Lord beneath a spacious dome.

II.

As the painter entered through the front door,
His eyes met the dark, and the air was cold,
And a soft light reflected on the floor.

The candleholders lined up past the old
Wooden benches slowly guided his view,
Through the daylight, to an altar of gold.

As he walked down the aisle, past the front pew,
He looked up above the altar, and saw
The colored glass gently sparkled with dew.

Admiring the altarpiece with awe,
He saw a statue of his Holy King,
Which was crafted without a single flaw.

He looked up at the cathedral ceiling,
And a choir of angels began to sing.

III.

With the first strokes of his brush, he began
Painting an image upon the plaster—
Envisioning a beautiful woman.

Diligently, he kept working faster—
As her heavenly form was developed,
He painted with the skills of a master.

Throughout each day that he labored, he hoped
For this to be his finest work ever,
And made sure his scaffold was safely roped.

As he painted her clothes, he was clever
In how he had selected each color—
The whole process was quite an endeavor.

Every day, she came to life even more,
And he worked harder than ever before.

IV.

With the Blessed Virgin now completed,
The artist began constructing Her throne—
Where She would remain peacefully seated.

A young child soon sat in Her lap alone,
Reigning as the only begotten Son—
The pair had taken on lives of their own.

Once the two angels above them were done,
The painter crafted a star to be seen,
And the Three Magi soon joined everyone.

They all surrounded the Heavenly Queen,
To bring gifts and adore the newborn boy,
Recalling the art from the Byzantine.

The painter looked at the scene with great joy,
And gave a silent thanks for his employ.

V.

The painter gently lowered his scaffold—
Once he reached the floor, he looked back up high,
And watched the Nativity Scene unfold.

The Christmas Star lit up the late-night sky
Over where the Madonna and Her child
Were seated—Where the peaceful angels fly.

All who had come from near and far were filed
Up in lines on each side to praise their King,
And the young baby Jesus softly smiled.

Each of those who approached held gifts to bring
To His Majesty on this holy night,
And their prayers rose above each angel’s wing.

As the painter’s eyes scanned from left to right,
He reveled in its ethereal sight.

VI.

The bishop arrived the following day,
And the clergy were now allowed access,
To view the painter’s new work on display.

At each future service they would address,
They knew the painting would always hold true
To them, and all the townspeople they bless.

The sight of Mary dressed in white and blue
Brought hope for miracles to be restored—
Causing their faith and their peace to renew.

Each Sunday, their prayers rose up toward
This large painting of His Majesty’s birth—
As they all gathered to worship the Lord.

A constant reminder of the true worth
Of good will towards men and peace on Earth.

VII.

The painter’s new work had been met with praise,
And after he walked out, waving his hand,
The people’s excitement went on for days.

As worshipers came from across the land,
To see what others were talking about,
They were greeted with a feeling quite grand.

People continued to come in and out—
Every time the painter walked down the street,
Some people would clap and joyfully shout.

And he would shout on the tips of his feet,
“The glory is His! It should not be mine!”
These very words he would always repeat

For those who patiently waited in line
To eat the Lord’s bread and to drink His wine.

I hope you know that even as I boarded the last train of the evening
I haven’t forgotten for one moment
About our playground meetings

I remember those long and cloudless days
When the clothes on our backs felt like sandpaper to an eczema patch
Our face and shoulders kissed so good
By the sun’s loving, open rays

Melted popsicle juice between our fingertips
Was our strategy for better grip
To log the days accurately
We’d throw the sticks down to the woodchips
As we lunged and pulled ourselves through hazardous metal structures

We’d watch the last colors left in the day bleed out over the sky
Like oil paints spilling into every kind of strange hue
Moments before grays and dark blues from dirty brushes
Polluted their vibrancy
And ran them cool in time to soak the moon
And soothe the stars that dunk in, too

Like plastic water bottles, leaves, or even your ipod tunes
Eventually the breezes picked us up and carried us in two
Leaving our skin full of goose bumps and bruises
A twig or so would catch in my hair
And uproot my braids
Of mother’s hard and loving care

Each night I’d be greeted by the click of her tongue
And the sliding of yarn in her fast-paced crochet
She shook her head from side to side
“Such a crazy girl,”
She said with wrinkles between her eyes
“To think anyone could outrun the sun”

I didn’t say bye when I left
And I hadn’t bothered to raid her purse
I took what little cents I had left from various cash transactions
And bought me a train ticket from Seattle to San Diego-
39 hours, said the ticket guy, but that’s at worst

I sat alone
On a cold steel seat

Curled into a ball
Sketching calligraphy prints with an earbud on each side
As I leaned against the window pane
I watched the otters hug and duck to play beneath the tide
I played guitar music on cd
The kind you told me was good because you can’t hear
“Whatever the hell they sayin’”
Awaiting my arrival to the farther south
Where the sun waits a little longer in the year to fall.

A stag leaps across the board run,
ditch to ditch, thorns to thorns,
muscles, music, obsidian eyes focused
to aspens beyond his landing.

Those blessed to see such things once,
and never again, carry the frames
of that motion into the story of their days,
compare the totality of all other beauty
to the flight of dun fur across the November
sky, a late afternoon ballet, a dance
that never ends in the mind’s open eye.

“A heavy package came in the mail today,
I put it under the tree, a gift, right?”

Gray haired, wrinkled grumpy feminine frown.
Raised on a cotton farm, three of ten.
Just another field hand, wasn’t time for much love.
Time for survivin’, and a green elm switch.

Sixteen and married, “Good for nothin! Sat on the porch.
Always grabbin’ me here, or down there.
Drinkin’ and Spittin’, put a black skillet upside his head.
Drug him out feet first, that ended his abuse.”

Kids came and went, grandkids, too.
“Tried to love ’em, but didn’t really know how.
Saved a bunch from waitin’ table, Sullivan’s bar and restaurant,
Three dead husbands, hard, but I survived!”

Lived in a smokey apartment, big black bible, rockin’ chair.
they came and went, payin’ their family dues.
Each wanting a piece of the pie.
“If you’ve got a quarter, save a nickel of it.”

Finally, spending too much on nursing home care,
She died, consumed and eaten from deep inside.
Faithful sons learned her lessons well –
“Funeral’s too expensive, dump her ashes someplace, anyplace.”

“This package came in the mail today”,
A childish voice informed me.
“I put it under the Christmas tree, a gift, right?”
“Yes, I mused, “A Gift….”

When I gaze up at the blue sky
and wonder what I have done

to not be able to fly,
the sky falls;

a river, light looping around my arms and legs
slowly falling with rain that hits my open eye

poisonous flowers; human emotions often lie

Create. Destroy. Craft. Then rest.
Trying to resist the pull of relapse.
Create. Destroy. Craft.
But a void stirs quietly beneath the skin.
Submit. Rejected. Dejected.
Try again.
Send another.
Apply once more.
One hundred rejections deep.
Create. Destroy.
Tethered to the life of my art.
Shards of doubt press inward, sharp and constant.
Doubt. Shout. Create. Destroy.
Create. Submit.
Create. Craft.
Bound to this aching need to make.
Rejected. Never accepted.
Despondent, I fall back again.
Create. Craft. Bound. Submit.
Create. Craft. Bound. Submit.
Create. Craft. Bound. Submit.
And then—
Accepted. Relieved. Seen. Accepted.

Tiny Opossum
Treed, and eating an onion
Reflective eyes bright

Bit, baby turtle
I almost mowed off your head
Silence, I saved you

Crows, murderous crows
We exchanged shiny gifts once
You ate my pepper

Skinny Deer of night
Your eyes are so brightly lit
Seen only by light

Raccoon of the woods
Bandit eater of night trash
The cutest felon

Great gray fox sneaker
You sleuth in shadows covert
What does the fox say

Stray cats of Piedmont
Frivolous fights of feral
Who feeds you catnip

Goofy turkey tom
long neck bird of autumn’s din
Roast at three fifty

Blue-tailed skink hiding
I saw you slither away
Will you sit with me

Skunk of black and white
Putrid sprayer of my dog
I smelled you for months