The World in Which We Live

Mideast violence flares
Embassy bombings
Israeli civilian guard was killed
Palestinians were injured in new fighting
Chemical Weapons

Jet lag causes brain shrinkage
American Airlines jet collapsed
flying fatigue
Jet lag causes brain shrinkage
flying fatigue
No Survivors

fertility clinics
drug possession
hook children on cigarettes
Medical marijuana
black man was killed
police officer was killed
Gun violence is down, only 650 dead

Woman files suit after false cancer diagnosis
cancer drug
breast cancer
prostate cancer
ovarian cancer
coping with cancer

campus of hate
school shooting
arsenic in playground wood
National Teacher Walkout Day
Judge halts prayer at graduation ceremony
governor vetoes gun education bill
School Shooter On Anti-Depression Meds

Mood Disorders
attention deficit hyperactivity disorder
Child abuse and neglect

Let’s Netflix and chill


The Silence

It was the silence that caught my attention
Gliding through the streets like a hungry fog
Seeking without needing to know why
Gently choking the lights into submission

I walked down that empty alley with purpose
Even though I lit a cigarette as I began
Knowing full well I would be tossing it to the ground
Twisting it under my worn heel like a disobedient child

When the door opened and he stepped out
I could smell the air escaping from behind him
Scented like a sweaty southern Baptist congregation
On a hot afternoon after an especially long and fiery sermon

I took another drag from my nagging accessory
As I watched him turn the corner and exit this story
His cameo had played out like so many others before him
Each one a guest star in a life bearing no credits of note

The stairwell was lit by an anemic green light
A combination of twenty year old fluorescents
And the choices of a second-rate interior designer
Who’s idea of quality pigmentation was rivaled only by the peeling paint

The door at the top of the stairs had been left open
As if to invite any sort of stranger to come and partake
Unacquainted spectators to the final curtain of an esoteric stage show
That found its audience indifferent to its immaterial destination

I knelt before her as anyone would kneel before a reverent act
My own observances unaffected by the horrendous exhibition before me
Except for a brief nod in recognition of yet another street lamp gone out
One less weak starlight to throw the moths off course on their nocturnal journeys

My camera flashed intrusively into the pallid moment
Capturing every detail in all its obscenity
The hair matted with the salty mixture of tears filled with a lifetime of regret
The blue, cracked lips of a whore with no lipstick still parted in a final gasp for breath

I fire up another cigarette as I reach the bottom of the stairs
In the distance I can hear the city breathing again
Cars, horns, a dog barks, an anonymous siren in the distance wailing in distress
The silence has moved on, but it’s not gone and I’m not far behind it

Memories of Avalon

The frogs speak to me in a secret language.
They are whispering laments
of unfulfilled destinies.
Sad tales of fallen Knights filled with regret,
unwilling to sleep.
Blood lies deep beneath our feet,
a silent testament to long forgotten pain.
I hear the anguish of mothers,
their sons’ bodies pierced and trampled.
Come home my elder children.
Our hearts cry out even now.
Midnight mists
pour across ancient battlefields,
the last breaths of a thousand chests.
The still, fetid air their only lasting artifact.
Sing to me now your solemn march.
Voices forever quenched, longing to be heard.
Rest. Rest now and take your peace.
The darkness will embrace you.
This is your home.
The frogs speak to me in a secret language.
I pause for a moment
and I listen.
They speak of torment
and I listen.
They recall suffering
and I remember.


     People who see me
See themselves
      or they don’t
      (see at all)
Vision is interpretation
       tainted by
         (or lack thereof)
  I am whatever I want
              to be
  Yet, I am whatever you
             (  too  )
          (ok I made that one up)
  So many
    Feel lost or think they are
     I  S  O  L  A  T  E  D

      from the world around them
      from the people
      from family
      from friends
            /visions of themselves
   Lowered /

      Too angry to be apathetic.
      Too apathetic to be angry

  Yet    we     go     on
      W      H     Y      ?

     Online Personas      
     You are what you type
     From your head to your hype

     If I don’t want to be me
     I can delete my character/
 ME FINE. (am I?)

     Look at me and SEE.
(What do you see? 
    I sorta need to know.)

 Isn’t that really what it’s about?
         Trying on new clothes?
      Change my hair color.
   Change the channel.
Break a mirror
            (or SE 7 EN)

 FIND something that resembles me.
  (not what I see, what I know)

 What do I know ? 
  Where do I look to find
   How do I know what I find isn’t
     a cheap knockoff brand
       sold on the corner of
         Fifth and Main?
       You are what you consume
        From your death to the womb
             (is that dyslexic?)

          (Hi-Def no doubt, HD ME)
      There I am
      That collection of receipts.
           My life.
 (Sorry sir,
   we have a 30 day return policy.)