Posts for June 16, 2025

Okay, this hill, hollowed out I’m sure, held,
till it swept out its mouth, insignificant, slight,
synchronized little gentleman, antler-
felted, long moss lifting borders right
from between next Summer’s hit top 40
& 3 bits repeating imagery:
The tortoise
The hornet
The acrobat
The mime
It almost all adds up.
Don’t try to fix the count.
Road work lasts just long enough to figure
out, or get ahead of the word you held,
knew, refused, met overhead, river-swept,
refused, met under canopies, stars, hex-
agonal enclosures of all kinds till next
time trapeze-clung aloft, grudge-held cleaved we
can figure out a way around the windshield,
into our selfsame breath-whittled canyons

           eyes wide
    notice skies, clouds
green shoots rising, leaves unfurling
colorful cardinals, jays, finches
        spring’s here.

If I can accomplish anything with this life,
my wish would be to move and grow. 
I do not want to look back and see
myself in the same space that I was.
Others tread water as they slowly crystallize,
failing to move from pausing to paralysis
in the slow decline of importance and permanence.
Why did the ancients spend so much time
chiseling statues from memory?
Because memory is organic
and can only be spread through organic means;
the arts are both the vector and virus of our heritage, 
and people like us continue to spread it, 
from year to year
and from place to place,
our world has never needed this infection
more than it needs it now.
Release those statues and stories before the world heals them.

My brother feared the Wicked Witch,
hid behind a brown naugahyde chair
in the living toom of the single-wide
trailer we called home

Covered his eyes when she appeared
in a flash of flame, and cackling smoke.
Breathed a great sigh when she melted
and was gone with a splash of water
and a song

My sister feared birds for thirty years 
after watching Hitchcock’s little flick.
Until one day, she started feeding them
in her backyard, and choked back her
fright of wings and beaks one
bag of seed at a time

My mother told me I once feared bridges
That crossing large bodies of water made
me duck in the Chrysler’s floorboard until
we had reached the other side

Somewhere, the memory of swaying
and drowning disappeared with
every bridge I burned amidst
cackling smoke and  flapping of wings

prolific precious precocious pregnant pink flamingoes
are graciously procreating profoundly on the bay’s water edge
amazing shrimp eaters
escapees from a TRUMP tropical garden in Florida
flew cross-country straight to the mineral springs of Calistoga
and were adopted by a gentle spirited Libran
as he innocently sauntered down Main Street with his bro
these hot pink-feathered friends knew a kind heart when they saw one

once adopted and thriving in this northern California mineral town
they were gifted to grow in a highbrow town of Boring Gamers
every once in a while a high-brower will give a casual side glance
usually when FiFi is peeing on a patch or the WI-FI has taken a hike for a split second
but little do these high-browers know what’s coming . . .
this flock of pink princesses are bringing more than babies to this stuck-up town
for on each one of their ankles an anklet reads:

DON’T SINK INTO THE STINK OF PUTRID
(T)ranced (R)igid (U)niformed (M)ad) (P)olitics!!! 

In the miles from the shore
to my old Kentucky home
I have it in my head
that you hate my guts
and that our friendship will never be the same.

My secret spilled over the perfect grilled cheese pull
and I’ve had it in my head ever since
that you would read between my lines
until you saw things that weren’t there.

All this over two weeks apart.
Something awkward but sincere,
something dead gone and buried.
Something pressed between pages
yet something filled with guilt and shame.

What is that noise
that interrupts your poise?

Is it a thought that grabs your attention
to something odd you might mention?

A joy that grabs your interest,
a pause from work business?

A thought you can savor
to change your behavior?

For no reason at play
it’s a break in your day.

It took some diversity
to keep you from urgency.

Maybe now you will spy,
pink clouds in the sky.

A beauty you’d miss
thinking moments of stress.

Always walk opened eyed
for beauty you may miss on the fly.

Now when taking a walk
don’t let beauty be blocked.

i think we lost the plot
we breakin down
fore we even off the lot
your heaven and hell
couldn’t believe in that god
keep tellin myself
least you got a job
aint got a lot
but grateful for all that i got

living’s not about getting things
this is me talkin shop
not spending time living your dream 
tell me what’s the cost
i aint gon bow and kiss the ring
of these god awful cops
who protect and serve
the ruling class
don’t project the nerve
to do it back
prison’s big business
get the kids in the system
so we can have their free labor
kidnap thy neighbor
if he loves all his children equally
how can you be highly favored?
what about that kid in a tornado
guardian angel with a pitchfork
no halo
what’s all this for
but to change the globe
they already tryna stick a fork
in us we can’t lay low
that’s how they get more
of a stranglehold
blood splattered
star spangled soul
try to keep the pain from being told
only say the real things
when they standin over you with a rose

i think we lost the plot
we breakin down
fore we even off the lot
your heaven and hell
couldn’t believe in that god
keep tellin myself
least you got a job
aint got a lot
but grateful for all that i got

but what am i posed to be grateful for crumbs?
the bare minimum?
am i just posed to be faithfully numb 
never makin enough
to save nothin up
just enough to pay the slumlord
the rich always tryna bum more
off the working class
they tryna make it curtains for ya ass
this shit ain’t workin like the math
they all led us down this murky path
AI drive the car it gon swerve and crash
at every turn we already gotta serve em cash
and it’s only gettin worse than that

i think we lost the plot
we breakin down
fore we even off the lot
your heaven and hell
couldn’t believe in that god
keep tellin myself
least you got a job
aint got a lot
but grateful for all that i got

There is plenty to be said 
About the life and possessions 
Of those who are amongst the dead 
Trinkets and collections, furniture 
Albums, house plants, boxes stacked
Floor to ceiling, family heirlooms discarded 
Memorabilia mazes maxed with unique 
Unconventional art flounced on the wall 
We chose things that we were certain 
We could never have imagined affordable 
Bargaining our way through the entire time 
Until the treasures were abound
Loaded into the back of our car
Twelve hours to make it home 
These folks may have been long gone 
But they will not be forgotten 
Appreciation for the rest of our lives 

After all these tribes of drifting lines and lives have fallen into a greater disrepair,