The listener


 Voices in my head mask the listener who sits silently amused. 

As she took a deep breath, I realized it was mine as my heart stopped

All I could see was the future as she whisked by me in a haze

Blind a breathless I felt numb, until her touch ignited my soul to rise 

I’m speechless for the first time, realizing I’ve never been more honest

This was the rest of my life, and I couldn’t see nothing but you

I love this space we share, no words, no touch, just our souls dancing in a gaze

And then the world rushes in reminding us what’s worth protecting, and what to ignore

Chasing Tales

Chasing Tales

Remember “back in the day” when the term “white flight” was tossed around. Back when liberal types co opted inner cities to facilitate the government run social problems. We watched as neighborhoods were destroyed. Eventually resulting in no one being able to live in these places because they were destroyed by crime and neglect. Only to later be auctioned off and rebranded as an “uptown” with chic apartments and coffee shops ringing with sounds of acoustic guitars and bad poetry.

Later we watched the mall hopscotch occur. Upscale businesses consolidating in mega structures to create a theme park feel. You could take your child prodigy to a photo shoot where they could become the next super model, or teen idol. Christmas photos with Santa in the winter. Even a chain restaurant that served alcohol for day drinking parents or pre-drinkers warming up for the club.

Then the discount and video stores moved in. The courtyard started serving specials that anyone could afford. Soon kids with busy parents were hanging out, then the folks who enjoyed their themed mall needed somewhere else to shop local so the upscale stores moved to a new strip mall and boutiques came back into fashion. No more hanging out in the mall. Eventually they tear the mall down due to crime and neglect. Green spaces return to replace them.

Over the summer we watched the game take a step up. They didn’t take over a neighborhood, or a mall, they took a city. Seattle is lost. No one knows how they’ll get out of that mess. Surprisingly they doubled down and not only legalized drugs use, but they made the three things we know destroy communities conditions to use as a legal defense. Over 140, probably over 200 now, businesses have relocated or shut down in that city. Making Seattle a green space may be the only option at this point.

Now Georgia is the prize. Not a neighborhood or mall, not a city, but a state. Atlanta is our downfall. They’ve co opted Atlanta and it has continued to fall prey to the liberal notion that philanthropy is a valid approach to assistance and crime is an affluence problem. They’re fighting hard to gain power in and through Georgia. This is a fight that no one will win, because the opponent is interested in one thing, money. That’s better than folks seeking power over its citizens, but hardly noble.

The common man or woman sees this and feels powerless to stop it. It’s big, like “where do I start” big. Undoing years of attempts to destroy a way of life doesn’t happen over night.

Heres what I know. When my dog starts chasing it’s tale, first I laugh, the I tell it to stop. If that doesn’t work I smack it’s ass. If all of this doesn’t work I find a toy to distract it. This ain’t gonna be easy, and it doesn’t rest on the shoulder of Georgians. This is a notional disaster that has me understanding how brother fought against brother in the civil war.

Make no mistake. These folks want the country. I don’t know where we go to wait them out until they destroy our nation and move on so we can move back in with coffee shops and green spaces. Minus the bad music and poetry. I do know this pattern is 60 or 70 years realized and we’re screwed.

For now I’ll sit still while the nation chases its tale. Make no mistake though, my freedom trumps bloodlines. Listen carefully to those fools you follow for a dollar or a deal. Listen carefully when those dollars ain’t reaching your pockets and you find yourself turning in circles wondering what you chased. If you support folks who seek to control any aspects of my life, you maybe my brother, but you’re my enemy.

Equal Rights

Equal rights

Be you, do you, fuck them you don’t need approval. You don’t need a path, you blaze a trail and don’t drag the world with you. They gotta get theirs.

Don’t give me that history lesson as an excuse for your fear. Fuck you, you can’t be Mike’s mom back in the 60’s and 70’s with 4 boys and a dad who walked out. You can’t recreate a world with no daycare or relatives in a steel city gone soft. You can’t be forced to pack your belongings in a car full of noise and drive 700 miles off a cliff. Working like a dog taking vacations for a couple days at a beach in the woods with plastic table clothes and prayers to civilize your offspring. She had no shelter, no housing, no visibility in a city of families parading around during the day only to slink around at night. You ain’t got those kinda shoulders!

You don’t want equal rights if you’re looking for exceptions to who you are. It ain’t equal if you use your privilege, color, or family status to lift yourself above someone else. You can’t claim your ancestors pain as a check to support your fear of failure. You can’t ever be that person who labored under the sun their entire life finding little joys in a large field of oppression. Stop it, you won’t ever have that constitution. Let go of our heroes and quit strangling their legacy like the chains. You just want to keep them in your bonds for a come up.

Don’t confuse poverty with the working poor. We ain’t the same. You don’t know the shame of working till your bones hurt and your body goes on because your mind remembers that family at home that needs to eat. You don’t know about being raised by a father who sleeps at your house till it’s time to go back to a job that he can’t distinguish from prison just so you can have washing powder to clean your hand me downs. You ain’t got those stones.

Sittin around creating stories of pains like a young boy playing Superman. Pretending like a little girl playing dress up with a wire rim tiara made from aluminum foil. That check got you carving yourself up giving away pieces of your soul. You clog a system that could work with your thoughts of pain and fear you might have to go to work. Then roll around in public like some stunted zombie wrapped in bacon establishing your place in a system that resembles a dog chasing its tail.

But your fine now. I hear ya, You just smoke a little weed. It don’t hurt nobody, and it cures all those quasi psych medical problems in the PDR and the Diagnostic and statistical manual for Mental Illness. It’s all good, You ain’t hurtin no one. Until that bitch you buy weed from pissed of one of his other customers who’s graduated then someone lies dead in a yard littered with broke down vehicles and trash from association. Yeah, ain’t your fault, you were just gettin yours. Fuck you!

I see you posing up there in your jacked up truck pulling into your circled driveway with the manicured lawn. Gettin home so late you don’t know what that poseur bastard your raising from a distance has been doing. I see through that facade you’ve built to carry around. I smell them dollars your stacking wrinkled and wet from the pockets of folks with holes in their pants. You need that money.

You’ll need those dollars to keep that bastard out of court or put that heifer in rehab. They’ll come out and hide in church where their story won’t mention the collateral damage their lives has perpetrated. It’ll be a denominational re-entry into the next warped circle of life you created. Poor folks can’t afford the buyout of the dependence you came up off of, they just work it out and and see you for who you really are.

All these characters don’t want equality. They want a leg up on someone else for doing nothing. You gotta give it up to them folks who are stand up. They make no excuses for who they are and take what’s coming to them as a reminder life ain’t fair or easy. Living off ghosts or some symptomatic existence is just a hustle. You don’t want equality. You want what someone else worked for so you can sit back and stir shit up so no one sees your hustle. Fuck you.

Family Matters

Family Matters

Their ashen fingers point south as they block the northern lights with remnants of infantile tantrums. Rusted icons hang like dilapidated advertisements swinging on broken lamp posts. Shards of sunlight glisten in oily puddles filling potholes and intentions. This is the pungent smell of ignorance.

All grown up they roam cities like children at a party where the adults indulge their fantasies starring at their phones oblivious to the smell of shitty diapers and beer cans strewn around their feet. They grew up before you knew it and now all you have are photos of the kids in the background wondering where time went.

They learnt how to hide malevolent intentions behind dramatized causes from your photo shopped existence and emogied compassion. Their eyesight is keen and hearing sharp. Like feral animals they assessed your intentions and understood your actions to be egocentric, but never learnt to spell empathy.

Now starting shit is a path to acceptance, a way to make friends for their narcissistic circles. Each one walking their own fantasy towards a collective cause of confusion. No more truths. No more opinions. No more talk. Like kids in a daycare the loudest one leads each dream along like a young boy dragging his dead puppy on a leash dreaming of the hunt.

You created these idiots, you know who you are. Raising little man or the queen as an insurance policy for your inept drive. Perpetrating parasitic behavior as love so you can sleep at night knowing someone will pretend to care. You raised a pariah dressed as a prom queen or king who either rules or destroys every poor unsuspecting soul unlucky enough to be in their court.

We see you. We know your motives and we don’t text SMDH, we just drive in another lane and turn the radio up louder in case you decide to yell our way. You destroyed family, culture, and society with that caustic cooch, or psychotic swag. You trapped baby daddy’s and baby momma’s like lizards underneath discarded pieces of tin. Then pulled their tales off so you could watch them lose their balance and become victims of stray cats.

Now I drive slowly through the mourning fog as sunlight shines through broken glass illuminating salvaged vehicles and smoldering plywood. Blood stains and oil soak the asphalt with the same weight. Wet smoke rises from torn clothing and plastic water bottles like the frenzied perfume of an unfortunate lover.

Feral parenting got us here. The narcissist and the enabler copulated in a green screened room. Their computer generated delusions have them wiggling their toes in dog shit believing their posting photos of flip flops in the sand. We see you and the innocent offspring you flipped into some twisted sister or running nosed bastard strung out on meth you got prescribed because they interfered with your delusions. You did this.

I’m not casting stones, I’m throwing boulders. I ain’t got all the answers, but I’m smart enough to know the questions are more important, but you gotta care about more than yourself to ask questions that have meaning. We let you out from under those rocks, so now we gotta deal with you. You’ve had your moment. You can talk shit when you’re old about “back in the day”, but we’ll be here to shine a light on how you crawled out of that puddle of oil and water believing you were posting a photo at the beach. You can bet on that!

Pops

Pops

You’re out there now, high and dry
Lookin down on us through a filtered sky

I’m down here looking back, or up
Figurin it out, fillin our cup

I know why you worked your way out
Double shifts and probably doubt

Your sheepskin and grit faded over time
Hard work became a poor mans dime

I marched to a different tune for many years
In a place I didn’t belong with many fears

I landed hard, but bounced real good
Just like you taught me a man should

You’d be proud of my hands, they’re hard as steel
My back is strong, and my life is real

I watched them work you into that chair
Then retire with aches that nobody cared

I saw you lend a hand till yours was empty
Never asking when your pockets only held keys.

I’m carrying you now in memories
With pride and joy for all to see

So rest easy as you look over my journey
Knowing you and I will always be me

Happy Birthday Pops!

Anchors

Anchors

Weighted down by words
With intentions
Laced with kindness

Dragging lines in the sand
Crossed intentionally
Erasing boundaries

Looking out at the horizon
The peace between
The past and tomorrow

Each link in the chain
Reminders
Attached to yesterday

Tomorrow is the wind
Leaving chain links
Shattered in the sand

Still, like midnight
It comes in waves
As I leave them behind

Forever longing for yesterday
When I was lost
Following their sextant

Now I’m my own captain
Drifting away
On a calmer sea

And all they long for
Are footsteps
Washing away in the sand

Sister Wife

Sister Wife:

Blissfully accepting to a fault. I told you to fish in another pond. When all your boyfriends are one dude, it’s time for the mirror. I know it hurts to contrast, but you needed to take time to reflect. Time to let that beautiful soul shine, but you masked it by surrounding yourself with dysfunction.

I felt the sorrow of your past. You wore the abandonment like a scar. You never really had a chance. Your fathers wings only landed you further from the truth. The truth that children should be loved, not set aside as an unspoken truth. I felt the weight of that sadness in each of your smiles.

Your tattoos and stories weaved a web through our lives. A cautionary tale of letting your heart fly like a kite in a summer breeze is dangerous. I pray those feathers take you to heights you can smile down from.

Your love for those boys kept you breathing. Never blinking, never judging, ever patient in your hope for more. Your search for family almost complete. Tears drop singularly like a path to nowhere now. And the search has been passed on.

And now the roaches come out of their misery to feed on the scraps of memories to be part of your story. Irony is cruel sometimes. You would see right through it, but gracefully play along for just that one moment that was true. Don’t worry you won’t be forgotten.

I’ll have great stories for your boys when I see them, and their older. Together we’ll laugh and smile at how your personality was big enough to keep struggling through all the disappointment. All those folks who, through silence or shame, took a piece of what otherwise could have been a beautiful spirit.

I would have never told you any of this when you were here. You accepted me with all my demons. You reached out to us through all yours. We reciprocated and now it’s gone. I’ll miss your smart ass, but I promise I won’t let you become why.

I’m alone now as you would figure. I refuse to play with your life as if it is a drama. I’m gonna miss you and all those times when we all had our shit together that we just didn’t quite make it to. All I can do is write these tears away until I arrive at that place where our memories are smiles.

I’ll mind my tongue around those folks clinging to your adventures so they can be part of something bigger than theirselves. I’ll forever ponder the irony of your thoughts, and how they came true, just not like you dreamt. I love you “woman”, and hope you found your forever family.



I’m not poor

I’m not poor
I’m not poor. I value the struggle that reveals life and all it’s gloriously humble moments. I love that hunger makes any food taste good. I love the blissful moments created by pain. I bathe in the luxury of small things that suffering provides. Most of all, I see the weakness within power that chokes men on their own vomit.

Maybe the blinding nature of opulence isn’t so appealing. I would much rather see progress than greed, or shake a reassuring hand than a potential fist. You can’t hold wealth, it holds you. Sure, you may have fists full of dollars, but what do you really have, just paper with someone else’s name on it. I hold dirt, but it’s mine.

Power is the real satan. Power swallows intentions, good or bad, and twists it into greed. It takes over and suddenly your trying to control everyone as a metaphor for personalities frayed and the consumption of all, but in the end it’s always an allusion. Eventually you shrivel into other folks perception and your lying naked and exposed in a desert with no where to hide.

Within is a space to be cultivated silently. Void of the torrents surrounding your physical being. Protected from the timeless tyrants tearing at your souls like fanged apparitions. The danger is becoming a victim or a mirror image; protection from within lies just behind the blind eye.

Seeing these demons frees your self to live. Riches or poverty are two sides of the same coin that blind the soul. You’re free to exist and cultivate the space within. This is where the riches of life sparkle and the power of you emanates as a shield against you and your enemies. Here, poverty is a blessing.

Unexplained

Unexplained
The scrim of existence
Is a myst
Void of tense

Reality lies on one side
As comfort
For the ego’s pride

While the truth sits quietly
Like a fog
Waxing and waning silently

I’m in the midst somewhere
Wondering or wandering
Through the worlds we share

Then I’m startled by now
A voice familiar
Beautiful, but foul

So I walk along alone in the crowd
Dreading the throngs
Never chanting aloud

This world is a distraction
From who I am
And all these spaces

I’m everywhere at once
Searching for me
As if I is someone else

But oh the moments
When time stands still
And space cements

I see with the clarity
And I’m the horizon
Realizing I’m the sky

Looking back at myself
Like a mirror
With no background

I’m here not there
Just a thought
Everywhere, but nowhere

And then I realize
There’s billions of me
Struggling to survive

Life

Fear

Fear

If I don’t sleep
ToMorrow never comes
And the dreams I fear
Stay alive

It’s terrifying to want something
You’re afraid to grasp
For fear it will slip away
To land never been

So I drift through life
With a handful of dust
Dreaming of a place
Where time is free

Drearily I move from the sun
Hiding within shadows or shade
Peering out at now

Yesterday and tomorrow gone
Melded into a dream
While I struggle for today
With lucid feelings of time

I don’t know the days I’ve dreamt
Or if I’ll awaken before death
But I dream of a life
Free from time and space.

Away is all I need, outside
Far from the troubles
That nightmares are born
So safely I drowse

And so I dream
Because those are the things I’ll do
And as long as I don’t
I’ll have something to live for.