Utilitarianism ~ Monday, 18 November 2019

Mr. Gabriel Gabidar, retired, not as a General from the Armed Forces, not from Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, but from an unknown branch of the service, The Clickety Pen Supply Company, as the late-night design floor dust sweeper, not a prestigious title, not at all, but one that paid the bills for his garden apartment, a studio basement space, not a lot of room for much, not at all, but Mr. Gabidar was a dreamer, a day dreamer at school and an artist, we say 'artist' but he collected junk, junk no one in their right mind ever wants, but he brought junk from work that he swept up to work on as projects, artistic works, did they make sense, did they make him happy, were they ever really finished, never, and they never sold, not for a penny, his neighbors saw his constructions thrown out, sometimes the size of refrigerators, ugly, dense pieces, cumbersome to lift, without balance, grace, lightness, or beauty, his stuff was just junk attached to more junk, how or why nobody was ever sure, but he never seemed to bother no one, so no one bothered to ask him about his art, why he went about as he did, he knew it came to nothing, to garbage, the waste haulers knew Mr. Gabidar and his constructions well enough to leave well alone lest they get hurt pitching them, but that was their job in society, and they were paid well for their services, they didn't live like kings but they lived well, they worked hard, played hard, went out on weekends, enjoyed life as normal city dwellers, they never starved and their children had clothes, Mr. Gabidar had no family, for fifty years he lived all by himself, then one day, they emptied his apartment [...]

Redoubt ~ Monday, 18 November 2019

Frontiers without games, borders without tears, 

resolve the war against immigration, 

on the frontier, the President builds walls, 

not my President, we protest to cheers, 

take a moment to assess the damage, 

in our country, beyond demonstration, 

executive decisions drown out calls, 

remember our march on the first day, shouts 

Protect no one, this unholy marriage, 

of shingles and blisters, red flags, take heed, 

except for Lin Daiyu, without a hill 

to fly her standard against hatred, greed, 

resentment, attachment, desire, the pill, 

yes, Jiang Qing, suffer death without doubts. 

By Jingo: A Satire ~ Friday, 15 November 2019

Acrostic: "I stand for the flag and kneel for the cross." 

---

I sorry but I burn flags and churches, 

shoot people like turkeys on Thanksgiving, 

target practice with my assault rifle, 

as everyone knows guns don't kill people, 

nope, people kill people, just like yourself, 

damn I know my rights, Second Amendment, 

foreigners and locally born and raised, 

ordinary folk, just gun 'em all down, 

really, don't matter to my militia, 

they take the Bill of Rights serious like, 

however, they don't care for church hokum, 

especially churches with flags inside, 

flags inside a church really mess 'em up, 

let you folk know you can't worship the two, 

a cross and a flag is both Church and State, 

give me a break, keep 'em separated, 

as the guy from Garbage Grove sings along, 

nobody cares nowadays about guns, 

damn, we so overpopulated, son, 

kiss your ass goodbye if we in your town, 

no cop gonna stick his neck out for y'all, 

everybody knows you fight fire with fire, 

ends justify the means, we burn churches, 

lock the whole damn congregation inside, 

fry 'em up like chickens at barbecues, 

on their knees prayin' to whom, I don't know, 

rest of 'em salutin' the flag, standin', 

the fire burns, they don't know to stand or kneel, 

how they try to get out, we gun 'em down, 

especially the ones who break windows, 

crap, we like all those pretty stained windows, 

religious folk don't accept martyrdom, 

only in antiquity, in their Book, 

see, I let y'all know just what makes us mad, 

simple, don't break windows, die as martyrs. 

Porthole ~ Friday, 15 November 2019

The I swings like a restaurant doorway, 

hovering like the breath, inside and out, 

entering and exiting, through each door, 

I appears as an affect of ego, 

sudden changes in temperament eddy 

with the tides, swirl in spiral vortices, 

into a glass from carafe containers, 

not a moment to rest, the water flows, 

glides from cylinder space to cylinder 

space, the motion of a reflective mind, 

lifted from the barrier of the brain, 

in an instant, lighter than air itself, 

kissing the metaphysical beyond, 

exiting and entering, a backflip 

as dolphins play the acrobat at sea, 

resuming their neural composure, break 

each wave effortlessly, silly to think 

species outside our own as dumb creatures, 

treated as lesser animals, each case 

as understood, body informs the brain, 

understand each body, a whole being, 

realize a bird's brain, the perfect fit, 

ask yourself if you want a dolphin's brain, 

not fitting the human body, stupid 

to think humans so dull witted and slow, 

dumb as an ox, a bird brain, stubborn mule, 

open the mind to the doorway of thought, 

opaque, filtered by centuries of blind 

ruminants thinking cows stupid creatures, 

want to see your ego aflame, flambé, 

alcohol burns cool fire blue, the mad chef 

yells out orders to inobservant cooks. 

Bitch Ass Tigger ~ Friday, 15 November 2019

Black art attack, muscles too soft, too weak, 

ignorant of non-acceptance, their fear, 

they see superficial reality, 

chew on this, the legal right of non-black 

humanoid paranoid androids, to speak 

As equals to Frames Stewart, drink your beer, 

suburban black man, too black not to see 

stupidity, to fight a language game, 

Trust me, Bitch Ass Tigger, pussy takes flack 

if your privilege takes precedence, I trust 

gamblers know better than act entitled, 

give me a real Bitch Ass Nigga, no fuss, 

even Frames Stewart knows better, he filed 

real fighting words, he felt I weren't the same. 

Fidelity ~ Thursday, 14 November 2019

I like people whom I can tell I cannot trust from the outset. If you look like a good person, forget about being my friend. If you go to church on Sunday, act pious the rest of the week, then go back next Sunday for more of the same old conversation with the same old congregation, you ain't no one to me. Leave me alone. If you slap someone on the back, then talk badly about their character, I know I cannot trust a word you say, I like that about you, you are clueless, heinous, evil, in the eyes of others, but I know you won't raise any expectations from anyone not even me. You won't get my hopes up. I like that about you. 

Before I die, come visit me. But be quick about it, I may be gone before you see me alive one last time. No worries. It won't change a thing. 

Pressure ~ Saturday, 9 November 2019

When I was in third grade, my peers told me 

how I could never be The President, 

even if I were not so sensitive, 

not so serious as a child, their tone, 

I learned that I was different, not them, 

was otherwise than an American, 

a native born resident, citizen, 

subject to the British Crown, at the time, 

if, as a child, I were told I could be 

nobody but who I am, important, 

those words could check the imbalance, the tone, 

however true, however factual, 

insolent, entitled, privileged children 

reminiscent of their divorced parents, 

dared to prove their worth of greater value, 

generous in their self-approbation, 

residents from other countries must prove 

additional merit to justify, 

deemed sufficient, their cultural consent, 

even just to reside alongside them, 

my peers were jealous idiots, common, 

yet, ignorant how to exploit others, 

perfect mirrors of their parents, broken, 

each shattered shard, an image of sorrow, 

each sliver, a child neglected, in pain, 

remembering my childhood as I do, 

still, I must spit out the venom of bites, 

the poisonous beliefs of hateful minds, 

only I must extricate my own thoughts, 

lingering, hidden, deep inside my brain, 

despite my desire to crush bigotry, 

my discrimination against myself, 

even now, began as a child with peers.

Executives ~ Saturday, 9 November 2019

Dear America, 

      Reward impatience, 

ever ready to roll through a STOP sign, 

a hit and run, no problem, keep driving, 

realize your mistake the next morning. 

Accountable to no one important, 

masters of apathy and sheer neglect, 

ever quick to remind the foreigner 

renounce all aspirations immigrants 

in our midst, we children of citizens, 

called forth, righteous in our indignation, 

as leaders, ostriches, heads in the sand. 

Observations ~ Friday, 8 November 2019

Dear America, 

      Always in a rush, never on time, 

ever ready to shoot first, ask questions later, 

argue because you have a tongue, you speak 

relatively pedestrian bullshit, because to walk 

Away reveals intelligence, you talk 

monkey brain sashimi, bloody ignorant apes, 

even with a little soy sauce, it tastes 

rather stale, like cardboard, your thoughts, banal, 

intrinsic to your cultural hogwash, slaughtered 

carcasses of wild boars, domestic pigs, 

and cage-free chickens, born to die, beyond sunlight. 

Schadenfreude ~ Thursday, 7 November 2019

Dreams of wounded animals, suffering, 

reveals a sense of joy and the malice 

experienced by encountering harm, 

as if the real world were simply a dream 

made to exploit, enjoy and entertain, 

such lack of sympathy for misfortune, 

suffer the little children to enter, 

under the guise of innocence, heaven, 

for the wicked cast deep into the sea, 

for to offend the humble believer 

exacts vengeance for hubris, nemesis 

recovers the crime scene, offers what's due, 

trauma, the double-edged sword of neglect,

reassures each victim, "never again,"

and treats perpetrators as criminals,

under the codes of the justice system,

maybe as psychopaths, sociopaths,

abnormal deviants, or subhumans. 

Unholy ~ Wednesday, 6 November 2019

Appears the wall nearly touches the sky, 

perceptions may deceive the watchful eye, 

perceptions may conceive a passerby 

entering the border, an added fee 

at the crossroads, shake hands with Lucifer, 

re-entry to the state comes at a price 

seldom imagined by the emigrants, 

tents beyond the deeply entrenched border 

haunt the landscape with cotton sheets aloft 

entertaining border guards on duty, 

walls grow like mountains along the border, 

ask not to enter via a tunnel, 

lost souls dig underground until they find 

levity, giddiness, heat, confusion, 

no one enters the domain of Orange, 

exit passes reçu avec chaque ange, 

arguments, complaints, excuses, observed, 

read, heard, ignored, by all politicians, 

little done to effect change, dictators, 

yes, our totalitarian regime 

tosses illegal immigrants aside, 

over the wall via a catapult, 

understand, the government cares for its 

citizens, denizens since before birth, 

habitants in the womb, since conception, 

entry into the kingdom of Barron, 

son of Donald, President of Orange, 

truly becomes nearly impossible, 

human worth is less than even cattle, 

especially since we're not cannibals, 

seen from above, the drones on the border, 

kisses every infant before they fall, 

yes, to reach such heights before death, pity 

privilege comes to so few, the denizens 

empty of emotions conquered by Trump, 

reason does not apply in our country, 

conception without exception, his rhymes 

envision how we govern with Twitter, 

people forgot about democracy, 

to not think, to not feel, just to engage 

in acts of depravity, we are free 

on all counts of accountability, 

no one decides their fate but government, 

simple, when ruled by one, no arguments, 

many complain with destructive protests, 

arson and destruction of property, 

yet, as citizens, they get a long rope, 

deceptive practices helps government 

excuse themselves of wrongdoing, of bad 

conscience, as bad faith overcomes the guilt 

emanating from evasive actions, 

in acts of omission, turn a blind eye, 

visions of gardens of earthly delights 

entrance inhabitants with excuses 

to behave, misbehave, or act freely, 

healthy citizens take part in pogroms, 

ever mindful to never forget war, 

witness violence as participants, 

act as your conscience chooses, with free will 

to punish with impunity, the law 

cancels out criminality for crimes 

hastened by the passions, by emotions 

forcefully imposed upon innocent 

underage victims of abuse, distrust 

lest trust in unworthy people be sane, 

enter the bargain, the pact with Satan, 

yes, the belief in the nonexistent 

evidently thrives in America, [...] 

Fortuna ~ Monday, 28 October 2019

Some people are lucky, 

on the sidewalk they find 

money, twenty dollars, 

exchange it for quick picks, 

play the lottery, wait, 

end up a big winner, 

on the sidewalk, homeless 

people asleep, reach down, 

leave them twenty dollars, 

exchange their luck for hope, 

act wisely, help others, 

reinvest the winnings, 

exchange hope for success, 

leave others better off, 

understand finances, 

create the conditions, 

kiss the world goodbye, die, 

yet, leave a legacy. 

Vruvvi ~ Sunday, 27 October 2019

Life is short. Make the best with what you have. This moment will never happen again. Magic occurs when things fall into place. If we try to force magic to happen we control nothing but our discontent. Happiness and unhappiness are both simply passing phases, ephemeral, fleeting as emotions and memories, without content to ground reality. When we choose to make the right decisions, to embrace reality as it is, to let go of control, just let things be, magic occurs and time becomes immense, not our personal time, but time itself, the many facets of the diamond mind. Be good to yourselves, kind to each other. Love, support and trust builds relationships, care, compassion and consideration make communication open and free. To disregard this message, to ignore the spirit of freedom and liberty, hard won through struggles with adversity, is to accept your own experience, and let the wisdom of others convey the truth you cannot as yet understand. Life is short. We don't get a second chance. Make this moment work, live in this moment. The past and future are only figments of our imagination, the present, this moment, is the gift we give away. Embrace her, then let her go, a strong hug. We live for these fleeting moments, make peace. 

Unsatisfactoriness ~ Sunday, 27 October 2019

Duḥkha arises with disappointment, 

in circumstances beyond my control, 

seeing events unfold, watching mistakes 

arrive at my front door, the money spent, 

packages of useful items like shoes, 

parcels arrive, but do not fit, too small, 

only my feet are no larger, sour grapes, 

in the same vein, I become like a fox, 

nothing ventured, nothing gained, still I lose, 

the whole endeavor to solve the problem, 

mentally takes its toll, a marathon 

ends badly only if it's badly run, 

no runner wants to race in old shoes, gone 

to the dogs, duḥkha arrives with each box.

Genuflect ~ Saturday, 26 October 2019

As Mr. Gabidar descends 

briskly the pale gray concrete steps, 

under the second floor window 

left open in July, he finds 

lost from her comrades, a bullet, 

entire, unused, dropped by mistake, 

troubled by this strange encounter 

on his way to work, he glances 

nowhere especially profound, 

as the metal jacket glistens, 

catching his eye, he stoops to snatch 

otherwise dangerous ordnance, 

nimbly reaching down to pocket 

cartridge case carelessly misplaced, 

reeling from his find, Gabriel 

ends up going back up the stairs, 

turning the key inside its lock, 

entering the front door and up...

slipping on the marble staircase, 

twisting his ankle at the top, 

only the bullet in his hand 

opens fire on impact, shooting 

pain into Mr. Gabidar... 

close call, the bullet grazed his cheek, 

left hand singed by spent cartridge, 

only his humility lost, 

saved by his own misadventure, 

even his boss could not believe, 

but found on the doctor's report, 

yes, Mr. Gabidar skipped work, 

a nurse bandaged his face and hand, 

smothering him in the process, 

miserable Mr. Gabidar 

on the phone to his wife explains 

the problem of proximity 

he encounters with strange people, 

except she has much more concern 

regarding his welfare than hear 

insipid remarks on nurses, 

noting her indifference to him 

giving her all his frustrations, 

she tells him she's glad he's okay, 

only then he realizes 

under different circumstances, 

the fact he's alive and breathing 

has not dawned on him otherwise, 

everyday is an adventure, 

recognizing the southern sea, 

nestled on a map of Europe, 

seems to awaken Gabriel, 

ever attentive to details 

and strange things out of place, his life 

surfaced like the sea, spreadeagled, 

placed on the globe with intention, 

resourceful Greek sailors swept past, 

ever so playfully, his mind, 

a thought arose and disappeared, 

disappeared behind a locked door, 

eagles of the Aegean Sea, 

as he sat in a hard wheelchair, 

given his slight frame, his buttocks 

longed to rest on a gurney bed, 

even better his bed at home, 

difficult to explain his need, 

on the face of things, to get up, 

not say anything and just leave, 

a hospital is no island, 

no indeed, his home was a mile 

in the direction of sunrise, 

since the sun rises in the east, 

little did he see his logic 

and how bewildered he appeared, 

no, he needed cognitive tests 

done before he could leave, to see 

behind the facade of his face, 

yes, this eccentric little man 

must face hospital staff for hours, 

yesterday, he could not foresee 

kind people paying attention 

not to his warped sense of humor, 

even though, hospital staff laugh, 

emergencies take precedence. 

---

Acrostic Format Derived From: 

"Henry's Confession" by John Berryman 

A bullet on a concrete stoop 

close by a smothering southern sea 

spreadeagled on an island, by my knee. 

Icarus ~ Saturday, 26 October 2019

Is it any wonder 

      when a poet ponders, 

            "The future may be full 

                  of second thoughts, no doubt." 

Second thoughts flutter by 

      on wings of butterflies, 

            egrets without regrets 

                  crane their necks at a crash. 

If we fly close enough 

      to the sun the heat melts 

            our spacecraft to a pool 

                  of atoms, particles 

time forgot, remember 

      we once walked on this earth 

            among giants, egos 

                  so grand we buried them 

all inside pianos, 

      not baby grands, mind you, 

            but giant pianos,  

                  we cut a deal, coffins 

nobody wants to rest 

      in for eternity, 

            or until the Rapture, 

                  if you believe in hope,  

yesterday, feathers fell 

      from the sky, imagine 

            our spacecraft entering 

                  the atmosphere on fire. 

Window washers stand tall 

      on a highrise platform, 

            the wind plays tricks, jostles 

                  the workers during lunch, 

on a lark, the wind blows 

      hard, sending them flying, 

            in Chicago, it takes 

                  firefighters a moment, 

no longer, to respond, 

      the call to save people 

            trapped in circumstances 

                  beyond their control, takes 

determination, guts, 

      focus to see beyond 

            the problem at hand, view 

                  a solution to help 

endangered immigrants, 

      the only folks willing 

            to risk their necks to wash 

                  windows not worth cleaning 

really, who wants to die 

      falling from skyscrapers, 

            we may have second thoughts 

                  if we ponder their fate. 

---

Acrostic Format Derived From: 

"Terminus" by Seamus Heaney

Is it any wonder 
when I thought 
I would have second 
thoughts?

Undocumented ~ Thursday, 24 October 2019

The desert neglects to advise people 

how important it is to drink water, 

even the cacti know how to hydrate, 

left to their own devices, immigrants, 

on condition of anonymity, 

neglect to observe the border crossing, 

enter the desert without a compass, 

as if hoping for a miracle, ghosts 

neglect to inform them they are now ghouls, 

damned to walk the desert until their bones 

leave the level plane of desiccated 

earth, sand hard-packed, pressed 

      into massive sheets, 

volume density based on saline mass, 

even long before Christ died on the Cross, 

left forsaken by his own disciples, 

sand is a bounteous commodity 

as much as water is one limited 

not so much by the heat, but the axis 

determined every twenty thousand years, 

seems time evaporates on a grand scale, 

still, the immigrants and their families 

take into account that within a week 

reasonable activity will cause 

eventual, inevitable death, 

trusting in God and the Holy Spirit, 

chances are they will die, Heaven can wait, 

humans disappear among the cacti, 

foreigners seek the American Dream, 

adversity builds character, water 

restores humanity against systems 

ancient as Ozymandias himself, 

wasting away, the desert dismantles 

archaic, obsolete forms, a statue 

yields to no one, broken, crushed into sand. 

---

Acrostic Format Derived From: 

"Ozymandias" by Percy Bysshe Shelley 

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Le Parfum ~ Saturday, 19 October 2019

Onions, parsley, and garlic simmer down, 

fragrant in the kitchen, a splash of oil, 

restless in the skillet, imbues the air, 

emanates in eminent aromas, 

sensible with a nose for savory 

tempestuous affairs between oysters, 

left waiting for reprieve from the head chef, 

en attendant Godot, in her office, 

silence from the governor means sure death, 

still life, better than the electric chair, 

nights last an eternity in prison, 

insane fellow felons screaming their lungs 

green from gastric juices, drunk with despair, 

humans go stir crazy without options, 

their freedoms selectively stripped of hope, 

stripped naked in a cell with their faeces, 

ignorant guards ignore the screams, or taunt 

notably ignoble inmates with rape, 

one-night stands in cheap motels, 

      rundown dives 

noted for vice squad raids for prostitutes, 

elegantly-dressed in tattered fur coats, 

narcotics abound with sleazy pushers, 

insisting smack addicts use their product, 

gin and tonic for the night manager, 

hungry sex addicts crave the attention 

tawdry laced sex workers offer clients, 

cheap as sparrows chattering in the bush, 

helpless, haunted, hungry for what their wives 

elect not to offer their staid husbands, 

advocates for unadventurous lives, 

prostitutes from Eastern Europe adore 

humble bankers, doctors, lawyers with cash, 

old men with their erectile dysfunctions, 

trembling with Parkinson's disease, forget 

even how to untie their shoe laces, 

letting the sex workers do all the work, 

servants to their master, Andrew Jackson. 

Angry, frustrated housewives cannot find 

neutral tones on their blank canvas, they scan 

descending lines for coordinate points, 

slumping in their chairs, sawdust at their feet, 

as they eat Oysters over Angel Hair, 

women discuss the taste of the garlic, 

demonstrating a subtle awareness, 

understanding intuitively what 

salt accentuates flavor in dishes 

tossed with Parmigiano-Reggiano, 

restaurateurs watch their patrons enter, 

eat, and leave, taking their conversations, 

struck in earnest, in appreciation 

that time with good friends is fleeting, at best, 

at worst, non-existent, empty as space 

under the watchful eye of the head chef, 

rested from a short nap on her chaise longue, 

ants appear from on high, people down low, 

nothing but the older ladies painting 

their still life studies of a bowl of fruit, 

simply adorned on a wooden table, 

wicked read, Shark's Fin & Sichuan Pepper, 

in her spare time, the head chef 

      digests lunch, 

troubled by her brother and twin sisters, 

her mind needs rest but seeks out adventure, 

only who has time cash to travel, 

yes, when she was a student she studied 

subtle odors in Paris and New York, 

thinking she would create new fragrances, 

ending up in a kitchen cooking soups, 

reality sets in when it's too late, 

simply apply the mortar to the bricks, 

hindsight consoles egrets of their regrets, 

exiting the revolving door, ladies 

lift their wet canvases with a light touch, 

little do they believe their art worthwhile, 

some painters take years before they use red. 

---

Acrostic Format Derived From: 

"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot (lines 6-7)

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: 

Miles ~ Wednesday, 16 October 2019

The rage my father had slept deep inside, 

he transferred the energy, his demons, 

electricity passed into my brain, 

rage transfers, a chemical reaction, 

anger elicits attention, fight, flight, 

gin and tonic, rum and coke, whiskey neat, 

endless supplies release with a beverage, 

murder never entered my mind, to kill, 

yes, to kill them in their sleep, too easy, 

fuck me if you think I want to enter 

an exclusive club, juvenile felons, 

take your horseshit justice system, 

      get stuffed, 

heat I can take, but they fucked me for life, 

even at fifty, I cannot forget, 

remember to forgive, again, 

      get stuffed, 

humans forgive themselves 

      for getting fucked, 

as a child, I grew up with alcohol, 

despite my intelligence, their logic 

slipped under my radar, I caught no blips, 

little I could do but rebel, take drugs, 

enter my private hell, my own demons, 

perhaps they were my father's demons, too, 

tripping on acid was my one escape, 

drugs took my attention off of the pain, 

effaced my confusion with one small hit, 

enter the world of lysergic acid, 

psychedelic trips inside my own mind, 

inside the suffering, sorrow and pain, 

nothing I felt, blasted out of my mind, 

slipped into depression for three decades, 

in his fist, the amateur pugilist, 

dropped me into his private hell, descend 

endlessly until death ended his rage. 

Rainwater ~ Wednesday, 16 October 2019

To run a marathon, a droplet of water floating in a river, either you float along in pace with the river and the other droplets, or the river rushes around you, too heavy to flow with the others, droplets bump into you, you continue onward, battered and bruised, cramping, demoralized, your faith in training collapses, you shuffle to the end, you finish, defeated, you look back, in hindsight, to hydrate earlier, a better pair of shoes would help your feet feel good, you hurt from waist to toes, but worst is your ego, battered, bruised and broken, you trained for seven months to fail in your one goal, to achieve total flow, maximum river pace, into the zone of zen, absolute harmony, maybe if you're lucky, next year, the year after, you will ride the current with the other droplets as one with the nameless wonder of the spirit, ecstatic, blissfully mysterious pure joy. 

Chicago ~ Sunday, 13 October 2019

The City of Big Shoulders means 

ain't no problem too big to solve, 

ain't no person so small to disappear 

from the long arms of the law... 

                                                      to hug. 

Soulless ~ Wednesday, 9 October 2019

You know you will never 

      see a photo 

of yourself 

      in an obituary, 

under the circumstances, 

      the weather 

kissing the leaves, brushing 

      trees with a shake, 

nobody expects to die 

      in autumn, 

only seeing the world 

      through the living, 

wondering how you got 

      on the inside, 

you see the world 

      with their vision, 

            their eyes, 

only without rhyme 

      or reason, poignant, 

understanding their grief, 

      or indifference, 

wondering how you got here, 

      and what's next, 

if this fleeting moment, 

      ephemeral, 

lasts all eternity, processing 

      time, 

lingering over old wounds, 

      feeling dead, 

not unexpected but 

      still not living, 

endless participation 

      in sorrow, 

virtual reality, 

      like a game, 

exactly so, 

      hyper-realistic, 

realism gone overboard, 

      the ship 

sails from New York Harbor 

      to Port au Prince, 

even though you don't know 

      French, le français, 

earthquakes aside, Haitians 

      see hurricanes 

as important as the language 

      you speak, 

pretend the Atlantic 

      isn't that cold, 

however no one can see 

      that you've gone 

overboard, 

      into the frigid waters, 

to feel your spirit drown 

      in the ocean, 

only this is better than 

      feeling dead. 

Frames Steward ~ Tuesday, 8 October 2019

False friends come 

      in pretty wrappers, 

always charming, full 

            of themselves, 

little do they care 

                  to cut ties, 

simply selfish, beyond 

                        belief, 

egocentric, 

                  ego-driven, 

false friends come 

      in pretty wrappers, 

real cool, too cool, schooled 

            in manners, 

in East Coast smooth, 

                  propriety, 

ending your friendship 

                        on their terms, 

nothing but cash money 

                  keeps their 

distraction in check, 

            to stay friends, 

simply open wide 

                  your billfold, 

currency remains 

                        the language 

of false friends, candy 

                  wrappers tossed, 

may you never see them 

                                    naked, 

especially hard 

                        to resist, 

in a heartbeat, 

                  they drop people, 

no one but their vested 

                              interests, 

pathetically ignorant, 

                                    cash 

remains their prime 

                        focus in life, 

endlessly preoccupied 

                                    with 

turning a buck 

                  into hundreds, 

turning hundreds 

                        into millions, 

yet, capital, 

            accrued interest, 

win over no one 

                  but false friends, 

reminding themselves 

                        of their worth, 

assets like wives 

            and property, 

properly assessed 

                  by false friends, 

pertain 

      only to accountants, 

eventually, they find 

                        themselves 

reflected 

            by associates, 

surrounded 

      by their own image. 

Death ~ Tuesday, 8 October 2019

Out of the blue, I got a call, 

unexpected coincidence, 

the night after I saw Belew, 

out of the blue, you up and died, 

for the love of God, no one knew, 

the cancer you had quietly 

harvested your body for health, 

ending your life on a blue note, 

believe me, I know why you kept 

literally, your privacy, 

under the radar, you flew low 

enough to crash and burn alone, 

I say alone but you had friends, 

granted precious few the knowledge 

of your suffering and sorrow, 

the experience of cancer, 

and who am I, a long lost friend, 

come and go, unlike family, 

appear and disappear, as friends 

leave town, lose touch, left in the dark, 

languish elsewhere in ignorance. 

Aquarium ~ Monday, 7 October 2019

Buddha at the bottom of the fish tank, 

underwater with the algae eater, 

deep in contemplative meditation, 

drowning from complete lack of oxygen, 

hastens to grasp nirvana by the balls 

and overcome his being a statue, 

at the bottom of the fish tank, he waits, 

transcends the unknown of the universe, 

tries to explain practice to the guppies, 

however they cannot stay still for long, 

exactly when he says "enlightenment," 

biting at the tails of the angelfish 

ordain a different method of approach, 

to observe the orange buddha beneath 

the surface seated in lotus posture, 

only made me realize, the Buddha 

makes his appearance when necessary, 

originally, I grew up Roman 

fucking Catholic, but then, I found God 

trembling at his own insignificance, 

hidden within books of metaphysics, 

evidently, the presumption of guilt 

found within texts of dogma, disturbed him, 

including the conceit of existence, 

simply mindboggling for his image, 

haunted him like black ghost knifefish, silly 

to imagine the creator of all, 

all things seen and unseen, at the bottom, 

noticeably conferring with Buddha, 

killing time before his execution. 

Cranberries ~ Saturday, 5 October 2019

Dear Mary, 

      Sorry, no time to visit, 

even for a cup of coffee or tea, 

as the days pass 

      and we all move away, 

remember the good times 

      when we would sit, 

Maybe for the last time, 

      driving around, 

as "Dreams" and "Linger" 

      dropped in '93, 

repeatedly the station 

      chose to play 

yesterday's hits with barely 

      a set list, 

Dreary Irish vocals, 

      you loved their sound, 

remember how cold 

      it was in the car, 

even with the heat 

      on full blast, winter 

arrived on time for Memphis, 

      closed the bar, 

music lingers in my ears 

      as splinters 

you must pull out with tweezers, 

      with a twist. 

---

R.I.P. Mary Burns ( - 2019)

Picnic ~ Thursday, 3 October 2019

Take a year to ponder double standards, 

how one tribe invents a malicious word, 

even after the other tribe adopts 

Paw for pick a winner, no substitute, 

as the n-word is no substitute for 

winner, nor the reverse, such is the curse, 

Paw is the man who speaks so self-righteous, 

as to tell another right versus wrong, 

wrong is the winner of an argument, 

Not so nice, the n-word, no so genteel, 

ever since slavery, uppity blacks 

get angry when non-blacks use the n-word, 

relax Oprah, chill Frames Steward, you wear 

on your sleeve, censorship, worn as a badge, 

Badge of honor, badge of hypocrisy, 

lo and behold the blowtorch I ignite, 

on your use of "friend" on my Instagram, 

when you say, "as a friend," you uppity, 

token black from the East Coast,       righteousness 

on your sleeve, a badge that says, 

      "Oprah's bitch," 

remain superficially black, your skin, 

choice of rhetoric, you enunciate 

humanity with a dagger, "Brute?" 

Annual ~ Thursday, 3 October 2019

Why am I always broke in October, 

homeless in November, help me sister, 

yes, it's cold on the streets in December, 

ask me why I forgot to pay the rent, 

maybe I don't like to take cold showers, 

I don't think anyone cares about why, 

as January and February 

leave me hidden under a viaduct, 

wonders never cease when I hit it big, 

as March turns to April, I find two bucks, 

yep, under a rock with a note, "Good luck!" 

superstitious, I play Mega Millions, 

bam! I hit it big, win the lottery, 

real sweet in June, travel around the world, 

on my birthday in July, I get drunk, 

kiss a cop and spend the night behind bars, 

even after two weeks in confinement 

in August, they set me free, a jailbird, 

nobody knows how hot it is inside. 

Only I had some cash to grease the wheel, 

cooped up in that cell with all the howling 

those wolves make, trapped, 

                  never to see the world 

outside their cell, prison is hell, but time 

builds character, if nothing else, set free, 

everyone is my friend in September, 

robbed of it all, I'm broke in October. 

Photograph ~ Thursday, 3 October 2019

He felt the need to tell me I look like... 

even if he saw a resemblance, how, 

for the love of Christ Almighty, could he 

even for a moment find a photo, 

lifelike representations in art, for 

the image of Jesus was in the Word, 

the Word was God, and the Word was with God, 

heaven knows in the beginning, the Word 

exists as the sole representation, 

no need to tell me I look like Jesus, 

ever since I grew out my beard, people 

entered a moment of entitlement, 

decidedly, they felt the need to speak, 

to tell me what they could not possibly... 

obviously, I am not mistaken, 

to imagine people see Jesus Christ, 

even as wishful thinking, they are wrong, 

let me say this, no one would recognize, 

let alone embrace the messiah, for 

me, I hear it as a threat from far off, 

enter the voice of Spirit, imagine 

I walk downtown and people see Jesus, 

like people would recognize him again, 

on the street, ordering mango smoothies, 

obviously, I am not mistaken, 

kill me if I am, as you did Jesus, 

lame little lamb crossing the road, I walk 

in the crosswalk at State and Madison, 

kill me here and now, here in Chicago, 

epicenter of the Apocalypse.