I work in a nightclub as the token brother from another mother
work comes easy but time is lost waiting for life to begin before death
organize in neat rows stacks of hard plastic chairs on oddly-shaped wheeled carts
remember as other to the massive brothers, I remain the other
kill, crush, destroy the mind wherein the ego hides and resides out of fear
inside this cubby hole, I must efface my sense of race and hold my breath
nobody understands what it means to be blue, others eyes shoot swift darts
as a blue man among highly-melanated people, I become lost
nāga as serpentine Kuṇḍalinī Śakti uncoils into the clear
it takes decades for me to realize my roots at the base of my spine
generous to a fault, I fix my temperament to absolve past mistakes
hungry to meet the man at the top of the stairs, patrons become divine
transcend the detachment mortals feel in distress to see why the earth quakes
compassion and kindness walk hand in hand, children forgive without a cost
linger too long in one place, I become quiet, deep in concentration
under the skin's surface, anatomy remains similar yet different
burning from the inside, the desire to get out, to run away, to run
and so I run for miles only to return once again, contemplation
soaks the soil of the mind with forgiveness like rain, like manna from the sky
tranquility, a sea within absolution leaves my desire unspent
hunger motivates me to play the emperor of Chicago, the sun
eclipsed by the moon, full voluptuous Venus, fertile as Pārvatī
toothless as a dragon, I feel my age bowl me over, a slice of pie
objectified as blue, the blue-skinned god watches my loneliness pour out
kill, crush, destroy the mind wherein contradictions display a paradox
enter the final stage before death with a plan or suffer, scream and shout
nobody notices primal scream therapy, the cry, a silver fox
brother to my brother, I am not forgotten but dismissed, chapati
roti as paratha left once a year as cards to celebrate Christmas
other to my brother, my father and mother, unliked and unwanted
to feel alone at home surrounded by family, never want to return
humiliation hands me a so-called cousin, despair ensues en masse
even a torturer, sadistic to the core, is no ghost of the clam
repercussions, karma, act as consequences to trauma since haunted
forgetting his actions as a young man, a child, my soul, a love to spurn
remember, I was lost until I was laid-off from the bookstore, my life
only changed with a shock, a career thus ended, snorted up by the gram
mangoes make not heroes, neither does coke addicts, the Seventies unfold
around the Playboy Club, Hugh Hefner, sex and drugs, "me, too" that's what she said
nightclub life, no different, vomit remains vomit, clean up crew stays on bold
only to imagine what life beyond clublife for others makes for bread
trauma witnessed, distress experienced brings us together within strife
honey is still sugar and sugar is still sweet but my life is over
ended by the torture a child experienced, my soul, a butterfly
remember, to care does not mean to neglect, to let go of the past
memories of childhood, the good, bad and ugly help me to recover
old dreams long abandoned, discouraged by a lack of support, encourage
the little drummer boy to play beyond his debts, beyond the drugs, to die
haunted by the terror found in consequences, karma makes actions last
each moment before death, I breathe my last breath but I am not the other
realize to wake up, awoke as the kids say, I will move past this stage
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