Blunt Corpse ~ Monday, 29 May 2017

After running eleven miles to Fleet Feet Old Town on Friday to pickup my racing bib for the Soldier Field 10 Mile run on Saturday, I went to work on Sunday for eight hours, had a beef taco for lunch and a whiskey after work. I took three hits from a blunt with friends and five minutes later passed out and hit my head on the edge of the curb. Someone took care of me enough to make sure I got home safely by calling a Lyft for me. I don't remember the last time I lost all power over body and became a helpless plaything of unconsciousness but I'm grateful for friends concerned whether to call an ambulance, to get me water and some bread, or just watch after me when I hit a low point on this journey through the world. They got me home and I am well. Now I'm laying low at home, resting and refueling for another day. 
#MemorialDayWeekend 
~~~
I felt the hand of death when I woke from my fall I regained consciousness but the power to control my mind was disabled set to a neutral gear the drug I smoked was strong as I hadn't touched weed in years it knocked me out cold as a one-two punch I felt like Lazarus risen from death no less certain I was asleep or dreaming that someone was trying to wake me not sure how I arrived flat out down on the ground not bleeding but shaken up not sure how I fell some seven feet away from where I stood I felt exhaustion held me down after running a race the day before I hear the double whiskey shot on an empty stomach wasn't wise but a bout of boxing with a blunt after eight hours at work surely caught me off guard what could I do but hang my head in shame sitting there on milk crates weak knee in pain after the race no wonder I fell down hit my head awoken from unpleasant dreamscapes with a mild concussion groggy corpse like a welt over my ear today my mind was gone absent I stood unsure if death did not try to empty my body of my mind I returned like a shade from Hades to sit still and wait to drink water eat bread and watch the card fall from the dealer's hand face-up on the table suicide king my breath weak collapsed in my chest my pockets full of stones into the sea I wade

"What's Your Poison?" ~ Thursday, 28 May 2020

"I shot my wife today," he said, "point blank,

shot her in the head, just like William Tell, 

however, I missed the highball. She died, 

of course, but since this was in Mexico, 

the federales sent me back up north, 

much better than rotting in a prison, 

yet, I can never get rid of this stain."

"Women don't take kindly to shooting them, 

in the head, or breast, or anyplace else 

for that matter. My reputation's shot, 

evidently. But, since the case is closed, 

then, if I don't say anything, no one, 

obviously, would ever know, unless 

dreams, or nightmares, make me talk in my sleep, 

and then, I could tell my new lady friend, 

yes, I was having a bad dream, easy." 

He sat at the bar, I poured him a drink, 

even if what he said was true, stories 

simply disappear when not brought to light, 

and who wants to hear that story again, 

if it is true, especially, if he 

demonstrates no remorse. So I listen, 

"point blank," he says again, to remind me, 

or to pick up his tale of confession, 

if I'm right, it happened at a party, 

nobody cares if this bastard comes here 

to drink, but if I hear another word, 

"boom," he said, "then my marriage was over, 

literally, dead and buried, the plot 

a full fathom deep, that's six feet! And since 

nobody ever reads the newspapers, 

killing her won't be no big deal. Thank God!"

Romans 12:19 ~ Thursday, 28 May 2020

Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: "It is mine to avenge; I will repay," says the Lord.

Romans 12:19 (NIV)

~~~

With two bullets in the back of the head 

is justice outside the law not assured, 

those officers of the law off the hook, 

how they act above the law in duty 

to the people who no longer trust them, 

whether they ever trusted the police, 

of course, falls to how people interact, 

bullets do not decide justice, the law 

under jurisdiction of the police 

leaves much to uncertainty and desire, 

letter of the law in question, duty 

evaded, to serve and protect denied, 

trust is a condition of duty served, 

service is not service to the police, 

if the Fraternal Order of Police 

never acted as political arm 

to thugs in blue who act above the law, 

helping officers stay out of prison, 

eliciting political control, 

bullies in blue can end life in minutes, 

although not all officers are bullies, 

catch a criminal, become a hero, 

kill a citizen, become a zero, 

only fired from the force, four officers 

facing no charges can, of course, move on, 

the fact that George Floyd cannot even move, 

however, since he can no longer breathe, 

elicits a response for us to act, 

humans known for vengeance, must not repay, 

even violence will not stop murder, 

as these officers are accountable, 

demonstrate prudence that justice be done. 

Dhammapada ~ Wednesday, 27 May 2020

I realize the best | of all possible worlds | in an instant, as dawn 

reveals the horizon, | the sky is transparent, | it is real and not real, 

each time I recollect | decisions in the past, | things could have been much worse, 

also, things could have been | much better than they are, | flip a coin, it's just life, 

lift the veil, a spirit | guides me on my journey, | or I chose each venture, 

it doesn't matter which, | the metaphysics get | in the way of seeing 

zebras as black and white, | but life is otherwise, | to hold this state of mind 

enlightens the burden, | lifts the stone of thinking, | of regrets and remorse, 

this state of mind, I had | in college, wide open, | deep in meditation, 

however, my hormones | were out of whack, I lost | weight, and then, lost my mind, 

even at twenty-one, | I was ready and not | ready for the challenge, 

bodhisattvas appear | rarely, how difficult | to sustain awareness, 

even if I could now, | the fact of the matter | is total selflessness 

secures a decision | to save all sentient | beings, to awaken 

the world to the lightness, | unbearable for some, | to always walk the path...

Genuflect / Take a knee ~ Wednesday, 27 May 2020

We are all in this together, they say, 

except they lie, when police still kill you, 

are we ever going to move forward, 

remember you told us not to gather, 

except the police killed another man, 

another black man, let's be clear, police 

left another unarmed black man breathless, 

left him unconscious, a case of murder, 

in this case, the police murdered a man, 

no one knows why some police officers 

take advantage of their right to use force, 

how the police lose their sense of judgment, 

in less than ten minutes, a man is dead, 

so don't say we're all in this together, 

to say this case is an anomaly, 

of course, is obvious, except the facts 

given paint a different picture, decades 

elapse, centuries of entitlement, 

to say racism isn't a factor 

hurts our sense of indignation, murder 

entitles no one to act with bad faith, 

remember we are all simply mortal, 

to forget the good done since the lockdown, 

healthcare workers and other essential, 

essential, essential people who work, 

yes, oftentimes, the dirtiest of jobs, 

simply to wipe the slate clean of their work, 

as the focus shifts on four officers, 

yes, we are in this together, wake up!

Nevermore ~ Sunday, 24 March 2020

The corvids evidently know something, 

how they discern the coronavirus 

enigmatically puzzles scientists, 

causing a flutter of commotion, birds 

of the corvid family know sick people 

relatively faster than a lab test, 

virtually unheard of in science, 

in fact, it sounds more like fake news, a story 

decidedly fabricated to sell 

shitloads of domesticated ravens, 

even Edgar Allen Poe wouldn't write 

veritably unsolicited lies 

in the news media to make money, 

definitely not to sell poetry, 

ears to the ground say someone trumped it up, 

nobody is pointing fingers at whom, 

to be clear, children aren't screaming out loud, 

liar, liar, liar at the TV, 

yet, the President is on all channels, 

killing it in the polls, re-election, 

nobody wants to believe possible, 

of course, in a worst-case scenario 

we all vote against him and he still wins, 

smells fishy that Electoral College, 

of course, nobody graduates from there, 

maybe you're as bird-brained as the ravens, 

even though you may be smarter than crows, 

tell me how the ravens pick out people, 

however unlikely this story is, 

in the park under a tree, a raven 

noticing a sick person follows them, 

giving great concern with a caw, caw, caw. 

QE I: A Departure ~ Sunday, 24 March 2020

The shadow of my mind, 

discontent melting snow.

Insane Until Beliefs Proven Groundless ~ Saturday, 23 May 2020

My mother thinks the drugs made me insane, 

yet she cannot know what LSD does, 

madness in our family runs in a stream 

of consciousness unhindered by values, 

the bourgeois expectations others have, 

harnessed by my father with rod in hand, 

ever to know never to spoil the child, 

rod in hand, use it, use it with malice, 

that my aunt in India was insane, 

how my mom put the seed in me to tell 

ignorant, lazy, impatient doctors, 

no time for a proper diagnosis, 

kill all hope at eighteen and at twenty, 

sink or swim, you stupid immigrant wog, 

that it took marathon training to clear 

how many decades of erroneous 

entitled mistakes, too little, too late, 

drugs, hallucinogens, took me outside 

reality, my abusive family, 

under the rod of an alcoholic, 

given control to sail the ship aground, 

say father, why honor your memory, 

murky waters for years, recovery 

answers my prayers to a deaf, dumb, and blind 

deity you call God, I call reason, 

even justice couldn't care less about 

my case or anyone else's, no time, 

everyone too busy with their concerns, 

if one doctor did finally step up 

noticing my confusion after years 

slumbering through this life, abandoned by 

all in my family as insane, unsound, 

never knowing how wrong they are, how dumb, 

endlessly I write to prove my reason. 

Material Witness ~ Saturday, 23 May 2020

Cries of happiness and cries of despair, 

raps on the door to her room with a gift, 

inside she finds, under wrapping paper, 

ears, a pair of ears...no, two pairs of ears, 

snipped clean, perfect little ears of children, 

of course, she knows to whom the ears belong, 

for the ladybug studs, one blue, one red, 

harrowing as a reminder that she 

asked the girls if they wanted their ears pierced, 

perhaps it was last week, a month ago...

it was the day before yesterday, she 

noticed the twins looking at magazines, 

endless giggles inside the hair salon, 

sisters, especially twins, sound alike, 

sound identical, even to their mom, 

acutely distressing inside her cell, 

not really her room, not really a gift, 

despair in the interrogation room, 

cries do not emanate from her voice, she 

rasps in heaving sobs without a tear shed, 

if she knew the punishment for her crimes... 

evidently, she knew she could not be 

sentenced for a crime she did not commit, 

of course, she was still horrified to see 

four little ears, inside a box, a gift... 

difficulty to distinguish how time 

elapses when you are deprived of sleep, 

still, she would be released, not a suspect, 

perhaps she knew what happened to the girls, 

as to identify the person of 

interest, but she was just a girl herself, 

released from custody, not a suspect. 

Honorary Titles Aside ~ Friday, 22 May 2020

Why I am not an "atheist," 

honorary titles aside, 

yes, I do not believe in God. 

I do not call myself this word, 

a pejorative, to begin 

mudslinging and accept the name, 

no, I do not align myself 

on the whole with total assholes, 

to join said group would be mindless, 

anarchists do not fly the flag, 

no banner is the key to power, 

atheists believe...enough said, 

they are no better than theists, 

honorary titles aside, 

even though I am Indian, 

in the interests of my people, 

still I do not use the word, "wog" 

to describe or define myself. 

Sometimes ~ Thursday, 21 May 2020

Sometimes I get so down, I have to lie 

to myself to pick myself up, to spin 

the facts from negative to positive. 

Say: "I have everything to look forward 

to tomorrow. It will be a great day." 

A huge fib, I tell myself not to dwell 

on the past, full of mistakes and sorrow. 

So, again, I must lie, self-deception, 

to remember the past as wonderful. 

To remember my father as the best, 

to think well of my mother and brother, 

to find no fault with my island cousin. 

This way I can think well of everyone, 

the muggers, the rapists, the murderers, 

the pedophile priests, and white collar crimes.

I can know that if others break the law, 

they are on a different path than myself. 

They may be criminals but still people 

with family and friends and other loved ones. 

Each day I must remember to tell lies 

in order to appear optimistic. 

If only for my sense of sanity. 

To see beyond the horrors of daily 

life, to con myself that it is all good. 

Everything is for the best, as they say. 

The tragedies and comedies entwine 

so I no longer know what to laugh at, 

or what should provoke me to tears, to cry. 

I cry watching movies, television, 

listening to music, or while running. 

I feel this world never made any sense, 

until we started to lie to ourselves, 

to spin the facts that things will get better, 

or that things could have gone far worse, lucky. 

How lucky we are to be alive now, 

in this day and age, in this beautiful 

world, how wondrous indeed all of nature. 

I keep remembering lists of extinct 

animals, and rooms of trophy shootings. 

I tell myself, this is how they acted 

back in the day, but people are better 

now, though a few still make mistakes and kill.

I tell myself, money is hard to come 

by, they do it for the money, they have 

families to feed, and elephants die. 

Sometimes I think I lost my conscience long 

ago, I am able to see others mistakes 

as part of their journey, the weight they bear. 

I put my own mistakes in perspective 

and context, to decide how I should live, 

or how I would act in another time 

or place, in another person's shoes, so 

to speak, the proverbial switcheroo. 

Sometimes this world annoys me like snoring 

from the neighbor upstairs, what could be wrong, 

could they be sick, or is this just normal? 

Sometimes I think normal is a sickness, 

that spontaneity is the only 

reality, and order is weakness. 

Then I remember there are four different 

types of people, those that care for others, 

those that care for themselves, those who cannot 

care for themselves, those who care for no one. 

I remember a saying I thought up: 

Be glad you are you, and you are not me. 

Be glad I am me, and I am not you. 

How painful it is to walk in my shoes. 

I don't even know how to count blessings, 

how to be grateful, or to be thankful. 

I sit and ponder the meaning of life, 

or whether the whole of life is without 

meaning, empty of value, a null set. 

Beyond ethics, politics, aesthetics, 

all we have to guide us is a logic 

without quotidian values, meaning 

swept aside with systematic constructs. 

To flip a switch is a functional act. 

Whether or not the switch turns on the light, 

begs the question of the act in itself. 

That A is a function of A, not B. 

B is the light bulb turning on or off. 

Are all our actions to seek a result? 

This is why I am not Bertrand Russell. 

I am not Ludwig Wittgenstein, either. 

I am Rui Carlos da Cunha, no? 

The self is vile, our societies vain. 

Just for today, I am happy and sane. 

Sometimes I wish someone would just shoot me. 

Shimmer ~ Wednesday, 20 May 2020

At the edge of the universe 

there is a corridor beyond 

this brilliant luminosity 

hovering within the darkness 

entirely hidden from view 

eons pass before it is found 

discovered by a Genovese 

given the surname Corombo  

exactly as he predicted 

of this corridor, this passage 

from safety to khrōmatikós 

the direction being the same 

haunting one universe in time 

ended long before the Big Bang 

uninhabited and lifeless 

no longer existant in time 

in space, a ghostly appearance 

visible yet intangible 

everlasting as an imprint 

resolution degree zero 

save for a chromatic spectrum 

encircling as a rainbow 

Diplomacy ~ Wednesday, 20 May 2020

When you blame someone for something 

utterly beyond their control 

you destroy a relationship 

When they in turn blame you as well 

there is no hope for the future 

the past is ruined by judgments 

By people with no right to judge 

for both parties have done the harm 

to the other and to themselves 

Years are lost without any hope 

of some reconciliation 

the damage done, the sorrow sown 

Decades pass, should you live so long, 

bearing a grudge best left behind, 

the pain within becomes torment 

The descriptions of hell on earth 

of demons tugging at your heart 

of demons tearing you apart 

She who takes the moral high road 

leaves no ground for others to walk 

upon to share in lessons learned 

He who cannot see mistakes made 

by himself and others becomes 

empty seeks solace in sorrow 

Drowning in tears, years of torment 

nothing can replace the years lost, 

no one can explain years of pain 

What is the point of living with 

this burden of pain and sorrow 

tomorrow is not the future 

Only today can the final 

blow be dealt, the final knockout 

punch where both parties reconcile 

But today never comes, the pain 

like precious stones too expensive 

to give away, suffering wins 

Each bears a stone, a Teddy bear, 

that comforts each in their need, time 

slips away, love lost forever 

Both parties need to set aside 

their swords and shields inside the house 

of the Lord, if to win the peace 

If war is to be fought and won, 

then hearts must remain hard as stones, 

Teddy bears they cuddle to death 

Peace and war, two sides of the coin, 

constantly flipping through the air, 

is there no other options found 

Is humanity so profound 

in ignorance never to see 

an end to demons who torment 

Is suffering the goal at hand, 

the penalty kick in the net, 

the top corner, too far to reach 

What is the meaning of a life 

lived solely to console one's pain 

and sorrow in silence, alone 

Surrounded by friends and loved ones, 

loneliness eats the love away, 

loneliness becomes a cancer 

A ballet dancer on the stage 

suffers such sorrow in silence 

who listens to one with such grace 

To face the cutting blade, a man 

or woman becomes a chicken, 

a rooster with his head cut off 

Even a child knows better than 

this, she knows to apologize, 

to forgive, let the matter fall 

But how many of us have lost 

the child within, the right to say 

sorry when we made a mistake 

Stones of loneliness deep inside 

cannot comfort like Teddy bears, 

can only conceal pain, a pearl 

Pretty necklace of cultured pearls, 

how many oysters have suffered 

for your elegance and beauty 

When will vanity and desire 

end, along with corruption, greed, 

hatred, anger, beauty in war 

There is no end to suffering, 

no cessation of our sorrow, 

we bear the pain like a cancer 

Like a prima ballerina 

no one can touch, her solitude 

like a fortress of fortitude 

How to eat, dance and be merry 

surrounded by friends and loved ones, 

when loneliness devours all hope 

The decision to lay down arms 

is always left to someone else, 

otherwise we are but traitors 

Cowards in retreat of battle, 

this war is a long time coming, 

since both sides could not make amends 

Your children die fighting your war, 

not knowing why they are alive, 

why they must perish in a war 

The battle lines drawn for decades, 

shift ten kilometers this way, 

and return ten kilometers 

So many wounded by this war, 

the dead are long gone and buried, 

the wounded eyesores to sorrow 

Is there nothing that can be done, 

so much collateral damage, 

so many lives lost for your pride 

Honor, an empty shell casing 

found on the battlefield, the street, 

the sidewalk, even in your home 

Empty the clip and move on, turn 

back to witness the damage done, 

we are all parties to this war 

Blame perpetrators and victims, 

no one can go without judgment, 

but who are the judge and jury 

We cannot judge our own battles, 

we have no objectivity, 

no clarity, no perspective 

Our ideas are muddled with mint, 

the greed of gold and property, 

natural resources, the spoils 

We fight our family, our mothers, 

fathers, brothers, sisters, cousins, 

aunties, uncles, nephews, nieces 

The whole world is set aflame, fire 

made by oil, by bad blood, black sheep, 

we eat bile roasting on the spit 

The entrails found on battlefields, 

guts hanging out, no place to go, 

nothing to keep them inside, safe 

Is there no end to this, this war, 

the pain and sorrow, damage done, 

no war won by diplomacy 

Inhale ~ Tuesday, 19 May 2020

Buzzing like a bee in Chemistry class, 

in disguise wearing a pair of goggles, 

learning how the scientific method 

leaves us better people while smoking grass, 

yes, marijuana in pipes after school, 

William Shakespeare, watch him as he boggles 

indifferent teens with language affected, 

gaining no points with Elizabethan charm, 

giving us a headache with his lack of cool, 

leave it to us to psychoanalyze 

elephant talk, bunkum and balderdash, 

students of literature, unaware 

to care more about school, we couldn't care 

in a million years, more or less, the skies 

could rain down silver dollars, hard, cold cash, 

kiss my ass, Billy Wigglestick, disarm. 

Worth Your Weight in Gold ~ Tuesday, 19 May 2020

καὶ τὸν ἀχρεῖον δοῦλον ἐκβάλετε εἰς τὸ σκότος τὸ ἐξώτερον· ἐκεῖ ἔσται ὁ κλαυθμὸς καὶ ὁ βρυγμὸς τῶν ὀδόντων. 

ΚΑΤΑ ΜΑΤΘΑΙΟΝ 25:30

"And throw that worthless servant outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth."

Matthew 25:30 (NIV)

~~~

Talent, or natural ability, hinders workers when faced with a challenge, enters competitions to win first place, rests while others work, while torpidity undermines determination and drive, no strive in training, a disadvantage no one needs in practice, in the worst case, each scenario displays lack of grit, real focus converges a will to thrive sundered from the struggle for survival, harvest allows no time for rest, the crops in fields to gather before our rival gathers their own harvest of malt and hops, humble beer makers practice to submit.

~~~

[Sonnet]

Talent, or natural ability, 
hinders workers when faced with a challenge, 
enters competitions to win first place, 

rests while others work, while torpidity  
undermines determination and drive, 
no strive in training, a disadvantage 
no one needs in practice, in the worst case, 
each scenario displays lack of grit, 
real focus converges a will to thrive 
sundered from the struggle for survival, 

harvest allows no time for rest, the crops 
in fields to gather before our rival 
gathers their own harvest of malt and hops, 

humble beer makers practice to submit. 

Solferino ~ Thursday, 14 May 2020

Dropping atomic bombs | ended the war quickly | and Japan surrendered, 

remembering two dates | in August, 6 and 9, | almost like rolling dice, 

only our victory | smells like bitter almonds | if the tables were turned, 

pretend Philip K. Dick | imagined our demise, | our capitulation, 

pretend the Japanese | had dropped atomic bombs | on Washington D.C., 

if the Capital were | devastated, destroyed, | 9/11 would be 

nothing new, no real loss, | not compared to Japan, | one hundred thousand plus 

given as statistics, | a low-ball estimate | of total people killed. 

As atomic bombs dropped | on both Hiroshima | and on Nagasaki, 

the world reeled in horror, | except the scientists | in the U.S.S.R., 

onward to The Cold War | both the United States | and the Soviets found 

means to develop bombs | of great capacity | for total destruction, 

in 1983, | WarGames was a satire, | to show movie-goers

creatively, how war | plays out in a bunker | with simulated games. 

Bombs supplied with Napalm | destroyed Greater Tokyo | in firebombing raids, 

of the devastation, | as a means to an end, | civilian lives were lost, 

military tactics | chose urban areas | in strategic bombings, 

but the morality, | if the tables were turned, | and we were aggressors, 

still is controversial, | as to firebomb major | cities during a war 

over Los Angeles, | San Francisco, New York, | and Washington, D.C., 

no one here would question | their own indignation, | as we did not after 

the attacks on New York, | and Washington, D.C. | on 9/11, no...

horrified, indignant, | we rebuilt and attacked, | no questions of our past, 

evident to scholars, | correlating events, | CIA operatives...

We question the war crimes | of foreign countrymen | and their military, 

how academic is | it to question ourselves, | our culpability 

in events that lead up | to 9/11, and | other significant 

tactical strikes against | our forces overseas, | to ask such a question 

engages the horror | inflicted upon us, | and inflicted by us. 

How we avoid questions | at all costs, and our role | in global peacekeeping, 

our armed forces engage | in missions we would not | accept from other lands, 

under the Geneva | Conventions we agree | to relief agencies 

shouldering the wounded, | humanitarian | treatment of prisoners, 

exactly what we dropped | after 9/11, | in pursuit of justice. 

The Love Song of an Urban Naturalist ~ Wednesday, 13 May 2020

Observing a tulip in our backyard, 

blowing from side to side in the sunshine, 

standing tall and erect with a slight bend, 

energetically stationary, still 

reeling over its bold crimson petals, 

visually exorbitant by sight, 

inviting the springtime to celebrate, 

noticeably noticeable and bright, 

giving winter the cold shoulder, heave-ho, 

assuming the assumption as it blooms, 

trusting the sun to loafe behind the clouds, 

undeniably certain of the facts, 

languishing in the crepuscular light, 

indubitably at ease, the tulip 

prolonging its pleasure to lean and loafe, 

inadvertently attached to sunlight, 

negotiating photosynthesis, 

observing herself as a red tulip, 

uttering mantras to herself, her lips 

restlessly quivering in the mirror, 

belonging to no one except herself, 

actively meditating in her soul, 

contriving to fit in is a mistake, 

kinetically performing her duty, 

yellowing, she becomes golden within, 

answering to no one, she becomes queen, 

reverberating with the summer grass, 

diametrically opposed, she belongs. 

Behind Closed Doors ~ Tuesday, 12 May 2020

The first thing on my mind wasn't my mom, 

how I forget to buy Mother's Day cards, 

especially during a pandemic, 

forget is putting it mildly, I must 

intentionally block it out, the point 

really, to celebrate the one person 

sinister enough to neglect her son, 

to celebrate my mother is a shame, 

terrible a person I have become, 

how I found the path of antipathy, 

in that, I have no feeling for others, 

no compassion, no sense of empathy, 

given this trait, how could I not forget, 

oh, I must "fake it until I make it," 

no, that doesn't seem to work in this case, 

maybe my childhood wasn't really bad, 

yes, a fiction they think I created, 

mind you, I would prefer to be spiteless, 

indeed, to forgive and forget like you, 

no one would prefer this more than myself, 

doubt it would work with me, I remember 

windows of rain, but I was sensitive, 

and my brother and cousin saw their chance, 

saw an advantage to torture a child 

needlessly, a child with a defective 

trust barrier, a child who did not know 

misery recreates its company, 

yes, harm does harm to others, seeks to hurt, 

mission accomplished, the psyche damaged, 

only now I can't play like the others, 

monster that I am, I seek only pain. 

Apostasy ~ Tuesday, 12 May 2020

I aspire to revise | the corpus of my work | to succeed both in word 

--

and deed, to feed the dreams | of children neglected | by the system of men, 

send a boxcar to ride | the heavily guarded | line from San Francisco, 

purchase one-way tickets | back to New York City | in time for Thanksgiving, 

if you have enough time | to stop in Chicago | 

to visit with Rui, 

remember the poet | for his verse and his deeds | for he strove to know God, 

even an atheist, | an anarchist, a fool | who denies the ego, 

--

tranquil in heart and mind, | a tiger in spirit, | go catch him by the tail, 

of course, he'll be running | along the Lakefront Trail | avoiding coyotes, 

--

remember to visit | his girlfriend and their cats, | if you are allergic, 

excuse your lack of grace | and manners, they don't care, | we all suffer in hell, 

visit "The Bean" instead, | take a "Cloud Gate" photo, | not unlike a selfie, 

if you have time downtown, | eat at Cafecito | on Ida B. Wells Drive, 

see you post a photo | of your food on the Gram, | and tag the restaurant, 

even if you don't like | Cuban-style sandwiches | it's worth a stop, he says...

Ellipsis ~ Sunday, 10 May 2020

What am I waiting for...

human contact...

a signed invitation...

the Lord Jesus himself...

a game of chess...

must it always take two...

I can't sit here all day...

wasting my life...

anticipating fun...

in a park, almost dark...

the days take turns to move...

in my old tweed jacket...

nothing to do but go...

go home, but where is home...

foreigner, I travel...

only I have no place...

return trip, no, one way...

. 

. 

. 

God only knows why I...

on this occasion here...

date uncertain and place...

of course I know this place...

this place is...

                         is...

                                is...

                                       ...Hell. 

Bioluminescence ~ Saturday, 9 May 2020

On the edge of the horizon of space, 

not even a speck of distant sunlight, 

the fact that life itself engenders life 

holds the miracle suspended aloft, 

enter our atmosphere and understand, 

endless regions of vast empty darkness 

drowns out the noise, the hustle and bustle 

generated by solar energy, 

evaporating moisture, rain water 

only falls while life is still viable, 

for the deserts wait their turn to enrich 

the planet from dry, lifeless habitats 

holding the hand of death gently, marching 

endless regions of vast empty terrain, 

humans come and go across the desert, 

only they cannot withstand the dry heat, 

roasting chickens on rotisserie spits, 

in the end, the solar heat ends our lives, 

zapped of strength, the will to overcome life, 

of this war, this death march, this fantasy, 

nothing compares to life on earth, nothing 

out there, we scan the vast brilliance of space 

for life, equal in respect to our own, 

stuck on our little planet, our perfect 

prison with no escape, we imagine 

another planet as perfect as this, 

centrally placed in a solar system, 

endless regions of vast blue-green algae. 

Brother ~ Friday, 8 May 2020

To speak ill of the dead is wrong they say, 

even when the dead beat their frustration, 

rage and anger into a child, their son, 

especially when the dead man's father 

not only passed away when the dead man 

changed from a boy himself to an adult, 

ever looking ahead, never within. 

Exceptions to the rule occur by choice, 

proving the rule applies to all cases, 

if not the exception, for the fulcrum 

provides a point of power to pivot 

heft of load with effort antagonist, 

as a person takes center stage, their role 

neither augments nor diminishes sound, 

if the audience cannot hear a voice, 

of course, no one holds them accountable.  

Deceased or not, our father loved you more, 

and in a better way with due respect. 

Cast me aside, throw me out of our home, 

understandable, as I lost my mind, 

not to a doctor did you offer help, 

homeless, living off kindness of strangers 

as my mind disintegrated to dust. 

Thesis ~ Thursday, 7 May 2020

What is the point of writing poetry, 

how we convey our thoughts and reflections, 

as we look back on our experience,  

the ideas that influence character, 

in a nutshell, we are born in a time, 

stuck within the horizon of vision, 

the space we conceive we fill with matter, 

how important these things that fill our days, 

emptiness or clutter is aesthetics, 

people want to read stories, long or short, 

ordered by a creative mind, makers 

in artistic endeavors to achieve 

notable success with their audience, 

to take the reader to another world, 

of writing, whether in prose or in verse, 

frames the reader's mind by its appearance, 

we aspire to express meaning in life, 

real experience from our point of view, 

in this way, a context to perspective 

treats the reader to the inner workings 

in the mind of the author, the writer 

necessarily invites the reader, 

grants her access into her own insights, 

poetry oftentimes fulfils a goal, 

of striving towards an end, to attain 

everlasting memory in the minds 

to come, in readers unknown in our time, 

real life moves faster than light, as we know 

yesterday will never return again. 

Handsome Demons ~ Wednesday, 6 May 2020

It takes guts to admit you made mistakes 

as a teenager before adulthood, 

my mom holds me accountable, am I 

sorry I sold my soul for rock 'n' roll, 

old pyromaniacs go straight to hell, 

ready to stoke the flames and burning souls, 

ready for their eternal damnation, 

yes, I said yes to drugs back in high school, 

maybe if I stayed clean, no alcohol 

or acid, I could have become someone 

monstrously important in this dumb world, 

deaf, dumb and blind, ignorant to the bone, 

ask me to participate in stupid 

dealings with dimwitted politicians, 

ask me to regret my choices, mistakes 

nobody but I decided were right, 

damned to eternal hell, that's a good laugh. 

Take your morality and shove it, Love. 

Orła Białego ~ Monday, 4 May 2020

Dirty kittens with their murder mittens 

in the kitchen eating battered chicken 

resolve to do no more harm than need be, 

twisted sisters with blisters on their beans, 

yes, yes, ces chats sont plein de jouissance, 

kill, kill, kill is their mantra for today, 

in a Family Manson way, eh Sharon, 

tickle the paedophile behind the ear, 

tragedy comes with the territory, 

end the era of Free Love with a twist, 

nothing screams murder like a massacre, 

scream, groan, murder divine, the kittens kill, 

women and children first into the fire, 

if they cannot swim in The Sea of Flames, 

then God did not prepare them to survive, 

humans, the playthings of divine kittens, 

to whisper to the director to shoot, 

humble Polish citizens survived war, 

entered the Cold War on the side of Marx, 

if Lenin could only see what Stalin 

received as the spoils of success in war, 

murder in Katyń, Polish officers, 

under the NKVD directive, 

remember the communist leadership, 

divine kittens do not take sides in war, 

engage in murder in order to play, 

remember, kittens are not fully formed, 

massacre after massacre, the way 

if history is to be written by 

the victors and not the victims of crimes, 

the State does not care about genocide, 

engage apologies after the fact, 

nothing says winners like bloodshed, forests 

surrender the dead for our directors. 

Pulp (Live at Glastonbury, 1995) ~ Sunday, 3 May 2020

This was the dream to make it as a band, 

however it all fell apart before 

it even really began, called it quits, 

separated, went our own ways, so grand, 

we failed or succeeded in our fashion, 

apart we grew up and grew old, the door 

still open shuts close, after popping zits, 

truth be told, thirty years later, we talk 

how our creativity, our passion, 

evident from the start, plummets alone, 

drums took a backseat to paying the bills, 

rust never sleeps, I lost the skills to hone 

each knife in my practice kit, gives me chills 

as I grow older to look back, the clock 

makes its way each day with no time for breaks, 

to watch other bands play, their hard work pays 

off with more hard work, touring with the muse, 

music makes sense more than poetry, makes 

art available to an audience, 

killed the dream in my sleep, lost in a haze, 

every memory like playing the blues, 

if I wanted to start over again, 

the time is now, nothing else makes much sense, 

as I settled down to disappointment, 

studying Buddhist scriptures didn't help, 

after my father died, an angel sent 

billions of tears for me to feel, I sculpt 

arguments in my head, my dad listens, 

nothing in life is worth losing your dream, 

dreams come once, don't lose heart or you may scream. 

"If You Can Keep Your Head..." ~ Sunday, 3 May 2020

You lost it after we stormed the Bastille, 

on your shoulders for a short while before 

under the weight of force, your neck caved in, 

lifeless, you kept your head, tongue lolling out 

of your mouth, helpless to gain composure, 

snuffed out swifter than a candle by hand, 

take a moment, look back on your brief life, 

if you feel like God turned his back on you, 

take a moment to breathe before the blade 

asks if you want the back of your neck shaved, 

for goodness sake, you must look au courant, 

the Queen's Ball was cancelled, she lost her head, 

edgy, everyone is a bit edgy, 

running away from the revolution, 

wicked, wicked people with no patience, 

everyone knows their head must be removed, 

still, what we could not do for each other 

the street urchins decided for themselves, 

order from above keeps royalty rich, 

riches do not pay for the poor to eat, 

muster the courage not to soil yourself, 

even death requires a small token of 

dignity, something you lack as well as 

the bravery it takes to face the blade, 

hovering above, what you cannot see, 

even to hear, and it is all over, 

Brilliant Brielle, if you can keep your head, 

alas, that is not the case, much like cake, 

still, you had a good life, if you can call 

taking money from the poor a good life, 

it paid for your time abroad in England, 

lo and behold, if only you had stayed, 

little did anyone care in London, 

everyone there were aghast at the news.