May 23 2015

Artificial Meditation

The nagging commotion of business, chores and conversation disturbs my attempt at a much needed meditation, scribbling over the warm and gentle smile of morning, clogging the pores of my ability to soak in the energy of rejuvenation, with the itching and swelling of its injected poisons. I am constantly interrupted from basking in the glow of God’s gifts, for swatting away its nuisances and scratching at its insults.

Like a baby crying, the world incessantly and urgently calls for my attention, a neediness born in its own insecurity, a dependence I seek to emancipate myself from, its parasitic hunger draining me of all natural joy. It reminds me, gloating, that it has furnished or facilitated much of my comfort, in my business with it, trading convenience for servitude. Obviously I resent this “arrangement”, while resigned to consider its inevitability. This is the world I live in… but is my relationship to it inevitable?

The things I purchase and “own” to enjoy… are they not available for free? The trees, a seat, water, herbs, time, sun and air? But man has made a mess of things, transforming this world into a marketplace where any and everything is for sale. I am not an animal who lives in the jungle and makes my home in its branches, or beside its streams. The jungles are gone now anyway, laid waste for development. The water is polluted. I must now pay for clean water. I must buy plants which don’t not grow anymore without a receipt. I have to earn a vacation…

I find myself stealing what used to be free… even those things introduced by a corrupt world and presented as natural. I too have been tainted. I have learned to enjoy the lies, even desire them. My lenses are tinted… prescribed… I no longer see with my own eyes. I see what the world wants me to, and make it fit into my understanding, justifying through interpretation the art in artificial. Artificial. Art official. The official art. Unsanctioned works be damned.

Antonio Carlos Jobim – Manha de Carnaval

Jul 27 2014

To Be Young, Gifted, and Black

To be young, gifted and black
got broken back
now brothers thirsty for the taste of an act
matter of fact
they get high off of slipping through cracks
and be bragging bout they swag when
they be pimping false facts

Young hunters on the loose
armed with only a noose
and what’s sad is they be tagging themselves
like duck duck goose

gods in their own minds,
blind leading the blind,
young bucks chasing dollars and ass,
future fading fast

what’s to be done with these ones
that can’t make change
neurologically defective
buying into the game

while the world keeps on moving
paving over their graves
fuel for the fire of
more masters and slaves

I read an article that suggested
black on black crime
was committing homicide
to save themselves from suicide

Are we ever coming back from the brink
or is this it?
has that moment finally come
when we’re the shit?

May 19 2014

Love’s Ellipsis

when a flower loses a petal
it seems to lose itself
to grief and fear
reminded that time
can be selfish
even while revealing all things…

to your heart,
a treasure chest of memories
without which
love may be confused with some cosmetic charity…

moments out of context
time taken
for granted, the picture never seen

but there is a picture
more than the petal, more than the flower
painted by time, in time,
even when we are out of time…

so that love may be cherished
and not taken for granted

for what can be cherished without loss
and what do we love without fear
as time, our gift and curse,
‘loves’ us
without favorites

knowing that flowers e’er bloom
e’er die
and time: the canvas of their lives…

so mourn not, but laugh and cry
at the beauty you have known
for who can grieve over that which has not been known…
and having known it, been enriched and beautified?

and despise not death
but stand upon it, wings unfolded, chest ablaze, facing the rising sun
bathed in the memories of love
you were so fortunate to be gifted

drown them not in tears of woe
but wash them in tears of a bittersweet joy
and laugh the pain out loud
so that you add to the end of her period
to become her ellipsis…

Oct 16 2013

Da Devil is a Liar

Da devil is a liar!
what my grandmama tole me
not cuz I didn’t know it
but to show me who s/he be

aint no pitchfork, pointy tail
dressed in red wif glowin eyes
but dat man or woman in yo face
be tellin all dem lies

be dressed up nice
big bright smile
words so smoove and sweet

have all da tings you’d like to have
like red soles on dey feet

da devil s/he be dangerous
be gettin in yo head
be havin you confrused bout what is life
and what be dead

be havin you fight witch yo sef
dat evil is good and vice versa
dat hell is heaven and heaven is hell
and blessings come from doze who curse ya

Da devil is a liar, she said
but I woulda heard it clearly
if she said, a LIAR is da DEVIL
da trouble DAT woulda saved me …

Sep 23 2013


I left work early, though the sun had already gone down, it was still
her birthday
and I promised to be there
to watch her blow out the candles

the traffic was frustrating, drivers stagnant in the snow
my windshield wipers counting time
I pressed down on the pedal to make up for what I lost

I should have known she was waiting for me at the window
I should have known she would be excited by my headlights turning
onto our street
should have anticipated her running out of the house to greet me
shouldn’t have been driving so fast
should have changed my tires
should have known better…


a burning siren of sorrow drips like fire from open veins
as tears scream into the night
choking on a soul trying to escape the quicksand of life

“butterfinger,” I gasp
my insides rusted and wet
“it’s okay” I smile, face cracked with the effort of not wanting to lose her eyes

have you ever seen an angel dissected alive
a fish suffocating in water
innocence tortured to a song…

I remember misunderstanding love and
pressing my trembling self upon her like some tender monster
begging for a blindness I could not buy
and a high that would forgive me

a flower petal smeared like butterfly wings against my cheek
the color of crushed life
a smile in a warped mirror

lynch me in the middle of a winter’s night
from a solitary light post on a lonely road
so that i can be buried in the snowfall

giving breath to blue lips
is a kiss remembered forever by ruined hope
a cold clean comfort untainted by the stink of death
like being haunted by the ghost of an icicle

rocking and shushing and crying a hymn
love is suicide in the headlights of happiness out of control

Sep 1 2013

i love her

moss green
stuck in this swamp
caught in the night vines of a decrepit weeping willow…

moon stains burn silver salt
into my screaming eyes

coughed up raw, red velvet nectar flies

catching a breeze of lilacs and jasmine

while the mosquito rubs its hands

dressed in sweat she loosely clutches a bottle of empty thoughts
as my thoughts climb up through the canopy
to make my bed above the treetops
and spend the night betrayed by every star in the sky

handful of diamonds
handful of monsters
of nightmares
of milk and cookies

spread wing bird in moonlight
cuts through evening’s dust
leaving a comet’s tail
how can I catch up with my lost soul

a forgotten kiss
a moment gone
a song
haunting my heart

I’ll drink the dirty water
spit out the blood of lost teeth
and get up from the mud
ruptured spleen and all
the taste of boot in my mouth
stars in my head choking me with a sickly sweet smell

but before I fall off the earth
and drown in the drunken laughter of dead fear
I will say it out loud
like the fool that I am

i love her

Jul 22 2013

trip tic


rapid fire living
hustlers on the grind
to get ahead before you’re dead
to know the meaning of fine

to give your babies what you wanted
what yours couldn’t afford.
the power to decide how time is spent when you’re bored

to get your babies ready for
their leg of the race
to edge ahead with your baton
so they won’t fall on their face

how many laps will y’all be running ‘fore the tape is in sight
‘fore the shot rings out the final lap
to make it all right

‘fore your chest breaks first
to let you know your running was right

rapid fire living
hustlers on the grind
running numbers to discover
how much bread equals wine


don’t panic, take your time
you’ve got ten years to live

but ten years goes by so fast
and I ain’t got time to forgive

rushing on your mind
has got you too fast to think
scared to be left behind
you’re throwing up in the sink

going down the rabbit hole
chasing rabbits to death
how many wants can you afford
when you’re so stressed by success

your blinders train you on the screen
the grid is your conditioning
handcuffed and you call it bling
slavery you call living

they’re telling you that shit is nice
butcha gotta be rich to afford the vice
gotta be rich to live real nice
to get your prison contraband while you’re doing life


semi-automatic triggers
hiccups of stress
but that’s the way you’re living
rushing into this mess

can’t wait til I get older
cuz I hate missing out
wish I could have a do over
to sort this shit out

the digital countdown
has seconds broken to bits
much faster than the clock that has you counting off tics

but both have got your mind caged
in a false impotence
that infects each heart beat of your life with mental spoilage

your dreams: alarm clocked, shattered, and replaced with to dos
that are so mundane
they drain the steps built into your shoes…