the tomb has been sealed
only a memory’s left
no words can be heard
no old promises fulfilled
as they say you had your chance
life
cancellation of fireworks…
i asked
the brown bag prophet
if it
bothered him
that
the city
had
cancelled
the annual fireworks
he
said
ain’t nothing
to
celebrate
this
fourth of july
won’t even
make
a good wake
for
a dying nation
a nation
with
an ever growing
body bag
count
bagging up
blacks
and
browns
those grown
and
those
who’ll
never
get to grow
shot dead
as they read
what a great nation we are
should have read
we were
and
when we’re done
bagging up
the nra’s
school lunches
we’ll starting
filling up the bags
with
botched abortions
or
young mothers
who died
giving birth
to
a child
demanded by
and
abandoned by
good christians
protecting
a moral code
written
on rice paper
promoted
by
demigods
of
greed
so please
don’t ask me why
i’m
not celebrating
or
upset
about
cancelling
a fantasy freedom event
discovered daydreamer..
when my dreams and thoughts
intersect during the day
think not a madman
but one avoiding death’s stare
into his day’s existence
and the answer’s no…
we are the people
and if you invent new laws
we will not follow
if you reject women’s rights
we will not follow
if gender roles offend you
we will not follow
if decisions are racist
we will not follow
if you aid and abet crime
we will not follow
if power’s your only goal
we will not follow
if our voices go unheard
we will not follow
what we do follow makes law
we’re the final judges
and then we were old…
just a short story
with multiple characters
that leaves you hanging
about the various plots
since it ends so abruptly
in a moment of weakness…
to thou
who cut the hole
in my paper cup
just as things
were looking up
sending me
tumbling down
with a thud
to
the ground
with a most
unpleasant sound
words from my lips
that
should not be heard
by man or beast
but nonetheless
they were uttered
and then
i saw
an old priest shudder
and
even a butterfly flutter
with wings changing
from
white
to
pink
oh that i could
recall
those words
but reverse blessings
do have their place
especially when they’re
in your face
the room…
we rent this space
occupying it briefly
but everything
in the room
is ours
from
the furnishings
to
random thoughts
even
the broken dreams
scattered
throughout
the years
are
ours
so it seems strange
that we cannot share
this
small space
with whom
we choose
those
who pretend
to be our landlords
keep insisting
that
their rules
must
be followed
rules
designed
for their pleasure
and
their pleasure
is
power over others
but
we
pay the rent
linguistic projection…
you’re talking as if
i said the words in your head
your words ain’t my words
change management…
the dialogue’s changed
from plans for the next ten years
to the last ten years
jenga…
Read Between the Minds 