Poetri

few things invigorate
like the excitement of revolution
“POWER TO THE PEOPLE!”

they march for food
holding guns with malnourished minds
having acquired a taste for the crack
of convenience

a lazy luxury
consuming conscience
like a flesh eating disease

they march for money
(their piece of the pie)
having bought into brand names,
Western labels, and global marketing

they march for glory
in the here and now
easily wooed by movies meant to move them
giving in to virulent ideas
introduced by the costumed heroes of the world

willingly putting themselves under the knife
to transform the man in the mirror
into some grotesque visage of bogus beauty

the impotent rise
for the first time
deformed, enlarged and in charge
to stand up to the parents of their history
redefined and self emancipated

they were little for a reason
before a little blue pill emboldened them
and the deficient came to power
to enjoy their impotence out loud

who writes in the language of the soul
for what souls have left
the world so much fuller
of ghosts and poor

creatures forget the voice of their creator
having created themselves over
flattering illusions of virtue
ornately masked

beauty becomes the company of misery
illuminating the emptiness
in which the blind bathe
in such kind mercies

every whisper
washing over lost faces
staring out without seeing
and smiling

I have leaned into the earth
making my bed in the soft, cool dirt
ankles bent from the routine of rounding
grooves of timed repetitions
momentum drained by an ever increasing gravity of
concentric thought
caving in on itself
and becoming self aware of its own vanity
to which I succumb
and rest
to rid myself of its nagging
by embracing nothingness

she was his guitar string
a peanut shell on a sticky floor
a half empty beer mug among half empty bottles
a dark bar warmed with drunken smiles
laughter leaning in his lap
that last song before last call

he brushed her hair out of her eyes -
glazed and begging to be stripped

what was left of her heart
preferred the lightning from his fingertips to love
drowning in a broken dream
she gave in to being lost
hoping some one would find her
not caring if no one did

through the uppermost branches, black and bare
the cold brilliant light is the future I am afraid of
a whiteness in which I see no one
only the fulfillment of a promise
a painfully immortal awareness
of emptying and unknowing

I open myself to the sun
bathing in the hope of an insufferable need
born out of my last hold out against doubt
a difficult protected breath of concentration
and feel nothing

death is nothing more than a whisper of time
and life, a collection of memories that grow away from you
and love becomes… not fighting it

slowly, giving up, I become that tree
reaching for the sky
into oblivion

Drugs made me feel good
but drugs weren’t love
It was the suffering I went through
to get me off the stuff

It wasn’t giving me the sweet
until my belly started aching
It was teaching me to give
more than I was taking

It wasn’t the little lie
that spared my ego’s bruising
It was the truth that made me realize
the path that I was choosing

Not an emotion but an act
Not an illusion but a fact
A belief proved in believing
A life proved in the living

With the power to make the dead rise
unblock the ears and open the eyes
It is the truth of our existence
that makes us free to live our lives

The idea of eating a live tarantula
Or diving open-mouthed into human excrement
Was close to how I felt about
Guys who “acted funny.”

It started with a movie portraying
A guy who befriended another
Then suggested something uncomfortably abnormal
As “payment” for his kindness.

Then a foreigner in town for the summer
Fixed his eyes on me like I look at girls
It made me feel so creeped out
I wanted to punch him in the face.

At times they were amusing
And cool once you got to know them
But seemed surrounded by so much drama
I thought they were mentally ill.

‘Til one day a co-worker I respected
Was all broken up and in tears
I went over to find out what had him distraught
And he shared that he had just been “dumped”

Now I was thinking he must have really loved her
For it to affect him this way
And as he started to explain what had happened
I discovered that he was gay.

But interestingly enough I wasn’t creeped out
But felt compassion for this sensitive heart
And realized that there were some gay folk
Who were just like everybody else.

Since then I’ve come across others
Some assholes, some predators, and some cool
And have cured my homophobia
With the knowledge that they’re people, too.