We’ve grown tired of being pinched by small rusted tacks

holding tight     meant to toughen our skin

plastered like pictures cut from a magazine pinned to

our bellies   our faces   our sins


Listen you old schemers

we’re not looking for saviors

nor suckling blind messengers peddling  your news


We seek grounding instead

in the wild fecund darkness

deeply cocooned in a memory unbound

Listening to choirs of winged ones spinning

from the silk of our own lightened stories now loosened

and taking flight from the sound



Photo credit: felixinclusis.tumblr.com


Counting cars



I’m just getting used to the old guys next door

They sit on the back porch

drinking and talking

I can’t decipher what they say

not understanding southern

but it’s not too different

than a murder of crows


across the street

two fire trucks

three cop cars

and the paramedics

blue and red strobe-alicious lightning these guys like to announce their presence

Should I move my car?

Alcoholic James gives diabetic Eddie


Someone calls 911

sister June lover of cats and brother Eddie

comes in and slugs room mate James the neglectful


and the cops stand bACK

a broken hand for June and Eddie’s on vacation for a night

James better hide behind that tree.


Bella and me

sitting on the stoop

eating homemade popsicles

strawberries, yogurt and SUGAR

(a little bit)

It’s a RED car day!

counting cars

a few silver ones sneak in

but the red cars have it that day



the Mask



Still pressing up against the hardest surfaces

the ones made smooth and polished from stroking

the oldest deceits stand effortlessly smirking

no longer disguised in trick wrapping

nor granting the encumbered insurance of knowing

power cradles itself suckling from the lives of the many who trustingly feed it


Why is it our children are taught only humans may realize potential?

Was this the start of the game?


By bedding these apocryphal gods

we’ve found more synthesis than birthing

as we rotate each new upstart 

this long line of rulers, healers and salesmen

organizing the most popular projections

when even they are fooled into being

just the face of the mask


worn by indifference


I wrote this poem about twelve years ago…overwhelmed, angry, frustrated. If anything, the situation has become  worse but I am encouraged now by small, intrinsic, heartfelt actions that turn this tide. I am a human being who loves and is loved…this has to count for something


photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/origamijoel/7235241870/”>origami joel</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;