Posts for 2020 (page 110)

I’ll share
my 
lungs
in hopes
that
you can
breathe
easier.

Have I grown too accustomed
to quarantine’s day-drinking lifestyle,
or is the halting force of next week’s vacation
preemptively setting in,
or maybe it was yesterday’s full day
of back and forth forklift motion
shaking all motivation out of me
leaving me little more than a potato
planted in my suddenly super comfortable chair?
Of course, the answer doesn’t really matter
because they all mean the same thing.
I don’t feel like doing shit today.

Lines laid above space
spatial function affect
suspension grid shift

Intersecting points
rectangular illusion
perception design

you said,

as i plucked off

pieces of my skull,

transforming them

from something

terrifying

into something

ingenious.

i took the flowers

off the casket

that held all the sacred

things in life,

and planted them

in my backyard,

and waited for them

to grow into

something magnificent

and they never did.

so now i use the corpses

of all the ‘what ifs’

and “could’ve beens”

to cage up the

overwhelming darkness

that traumatized me

into the self-proclaimed

artist i am today.

i’ll never stop writing

because i will never

be happy.

On the shores of 1968 I played in puberty
and finding myself before the world found me.
Poets fled to Canada and trumpet players
bled in Vietnam.                          
                              Streets were electric and a
balcony in Memphis was sighted by the ghost
of grassy knoll.                    
                            Felons and goodfellas did what
they’ve always done, run the reaping machine.  

A book of poetry, written in 1968, by a
writer whose name I can’t hear in the
dream where I see the cover matted by a
pastel sky of orange and blue, limns the 
truth in lines about the war.
                                                   I search for
this book, my errand tasked from outside
time.          
          I haven’t found it yet, but I have found
hope because      
                         the world is searching, too.       

My father’s second visit after his death
Was in an abandoned library
Underground, dust coated
And again he couldn’t talk
I think he was picking up books and gesturing
as if to speak on them
And that one was ecstatic
It was wonderful to be there
in the library that was buried with my father

So, you know how just 5 years ago, they allowed us to start getting married? Well now, ANYWHERE in the WHOLE country, they can’t fire us from our job for being queer. No, they can still deny to help us if we go to the hospital. Yeah, the doctor can say they won’t treat us just because they don’t like our clothes or mommy’s girlfriend. The tow truck driver can drive off and leave us there stranded even if we can pay. The photographer. The waiter. The bank teller. Just about everyone can deny us help unless their company or the town protects us, and here in Kentucky, there’s not a lot of that.  So yes, they can kick us out of stores. Yes, they can still use Jesus to keep us out of clubs at school. I know, it’s a public school, but they can. It’s their “freedom of religion,” which is more important than our right to be free FROM their religion, I guess. I’ve always heard Jesus was a nice guy. I don’t think he’d be happy that the bookstore owner kicked us out to prove she was a good Christian. I don’t think Jesus would be happy the shelter makes people sleep on the street instead of the open beds because of an outfit. Yes, they can still keep us from adopting babies or even adopting dogs if they don’t like that we’ve changed our name and pronoun. Yes, they can still refuse to rent us an apartment. No, the schools don’t have to teach anything about our lives or our people’s history. They don’t have to acknowledge intersex biology even exists. They don’t have to use the name you want. Yes, dress codes and bathroom rules can still control and misgender you and yes, they can deny you taking your date to prom. No, it only means we can now work a job without being fired for being queer. But no, no one has to be nice to us. No, they don’t even have to be fair.

To be alone
To connect

To go somewhere
To go nowhere

To greet the morning birds
To see the stars 

To remember
To forget

To breathe
To move
To stay sane
To survive

GOD’S ETERNAL SOUL

For You…

Undertow of grey
sky pulls viewer’s
eye upwards
over Notre-Dame
& green trolley
over flower cart capped
with crest of carnations
& amber light
of confectioner’s shop
over the man in the mud-
brown jacket & woman
in ant-black coat.  

Rain spatter flushes cloud-
stone-wheel-wood-petal-
window-pedestrian
with an opal
brilliance.                                          

~inspired by Edouard Léon Cortes’ (1882-1969) “Notre-Dame, Paris”