Posts for June 22, 2025

i quit weed the other day
at least for a couple of minutes
i mean a couple hours
i just happened to be
asleep when i did it
thought i was takin back power
of my life
but now i need more flower
gotta get high
need an inner uprisin
can’t stop puffin on these hybrids
and sativas
aint tryna spend my life up
in the bleachers
never hype up
the teachers
cuz the teachers don’t get em hype
we gon give our life to the reaper
so ya gotta live your life
so come over here
mamacita
with dem thick thighs

i aint got no hoes
i got a woman that i love
i aint got no dough
i just be livin off a dub
even though a few years ago
it was worth twice as much
shit bro
why i always gotta light it up
is this all i live for
maybe that’s why my life is stuck
i gotta give to get more
fore my time is up

was gonna go outside
but then i got high
got sidetracked
i was gonna get out my mind
but then i got fried
now in my mind im trapped
was tryna live my best life
gettin high all the time
now i can’t get that time back
stead of tryna deal
with how i feel inside
i get high
so i never really have to try that

Let’s talk Bread
Let’s talk Familia
family style Focaccia
Grandma’s hands, almost as big as Daddy’s
Strong Sicilian garden drenched hands
Cooking hands, Sewing hands, Soft hands,
Hands that took the upper hand to pomodors, bell peppers, and stripping skins off homegrown elephant garlics
Prize Blue Ribbon garlics
A Nonna’s blindfolded art
the way she effortlessly mastered swirling delicious fresh flavors together
her raviolis, handmade pillows stuffed with veal, beef, fresh grated
Parmesan all floating happily in a secret family sauce
But the focaccia was the real deal family ritual
from the dough picked up at Giovanni’s Bakery
made just the way Papa Giovanni’s family made it in my grandfather’s village in Sicily
atop the focaccia Grandma scattered thinly sliced mozzarella, piled high with savory vegetables, herbs and cheese, sprinkled with her garden fresh
Oregano, Rosemarino, Marjoram, and placed one-by-one Olive Oil drenched garden grown bell peppers next to whole ear
elephant garlic ~ Italian candy
harvested right from the yard
placed on a wooden peel and gently shoved into the handmade backyard oven
as we all sat under the grape vined trellis singing Italian songs
the focaccia toasted to a bubbling golden brown 
each of us generously graced with a sizzling slice 

our Sunday Familia picnics
full of laughter, good eats, loud Sicilian songs
and sometimes fights

Grandma would always say,
“Let ’em a holler, afta they holler, let’a shut up!”

When the tide becomes
listless and time becomes
wistless and I’m iterations
of you remind me
that nothing dies
and lead me by hand
towards the garden

Where the perfumed roses shiver
and I’m pulling soil over myself
under the black night
repeating in the softest words
I’ve never met a bad person
I’ve never met a bad person 

The word “conservatory” exists
as one of those liminal words
that captures a space, a place, and an experience,
each of these definitions
also enveloping an element of time.
We don’t hear of friends
spending their time 
in any version of this word,
yet we act surprised when we hear
of a culture such as ours 
drained of all leisure, music, thinking, flowers, and phrasings.
While a few panes of glass and a few settees
won’t fix the pains that have taken root in our souls,
slowing down and remaining
might stall the sunbeams in artificially humid air
long enough for us to notice
when we want something
more for our world.
That feature is the most powerful one
locked in the many layers of a conservatory,
even if we must search a little harder
to find even a symbolic one.

What if this isn’t our first time alive?
Maybe the end of a long evolution.
We may have been born a fish, bird, or mammal
moving up with each death.

We’re reborn more complex
until re-entering as human
with a brain, voice, and choice.

Will it be the last stop or
will we use our voices and skills
to protect all creatures evolving
from  where we began?

How we help those below us
may decide where we go next –
maybe keep on evolving
or reaching the enc.

There is something

About the way that

He traces the yard

Rhythm and thrumming

A frequency of his own

In lines of perfection

The way his shoulders

Arching and protruding

Showing every back muscle

His arms flexing

With every move

Dripping with colors

Sweat glazed across

His brow and down his neck

The freshly cut grass

Smell lingers on his skin

Mixed with his pheromones

What seems like

Redundancy

He pours his blood

Heart and love into

The grounds owned

By another man

With the hope

Of tomorrow

My friend challenged us
Here’s a papaya, go buy a lime
I’m interested to hear what you think
He felt the change in his local market supported his theory
The neighborhood had changed

We toured the market looking for limes
Sure, it was a different culture, but the place was clean, orderly
The guard at the front gave the feeling it was safe

Found the limes
The girl at the cash register young, very young
Her face reflected the innocence of her youth
Small, petite, she was too young even for a quinceañera
She weighed the lime, we attempted to pay
With a radiant smile
she gave it to us

Three years and a day apart
two boys to two parents
who both came from big families 
with lots of boys,
the names we gave the two of you 
are not found in either families’ realm,
one we chose for its lyrical sound
the other for its brief strength

Like good boomers
we kept to cultural norms
threw away the TV
and moved to the country
to the smallest county in Kentucky 
where you two ran wild in ways
that could not be done today

It’s fifty years now 
since we lived in that log cabin
at the end of a dirt road,
you each have your family
of two children that you have named
and though we have split
we stay close  

The look of a perfectly fitted decorative apparel

 crisscrossing a 5X a week worked out sculpted body

keeps my beating heart in rhythm and purpose

My body and brain vibrates to color and symmetry

Fashion is my paintbrush to vanity, sanity and clarity

Color matching is an elixir for my anxious soul

Looking good feels good

Lifts my spirit

I enjoy making all things beautiful

a wall, a floor, a bathroom, a kitchen

If my home is tastefully decorated

the more relaxed I am in it

I imagine this makes me an artist

Isn’t this what an artist does

makes things around them

more aesthetically pleasing

My mom, was a fashion diva

Face made up

Hair finely coiffed

Clothes a recent trend

Body slim and trim

Of course not. And I don’t want food in my fridge, either. Or stars in my sky. Or purrs from my cat, or bucks in my bank. 

I don’t want cream in my coffee, sugar in my tea, or love on my lips. 

In fact, cancel the popcorn. Give me nachos instead.

Hold the cheese.