searching for death…

searching for death

you know them
the ones walking
on
the edge of existence
with lives
emptied
of
hope
and
purpose
going through
survival rituals
perpetuating
the meaningless
ignored
by those
who should care
those
good
christian souls
who
for
some reason
are unable
to see them
and
extend
a helping hand
christians
no doubt
baptized
in
dirty
bath water

 

 

saudades do rio…

saudades do rio...

slow shadow dancing
the streets
of
rio
where
promises have died
and
dreams are just graffiti
scrolled across
a church wall
a heart’s sadness
plays
from a mandolin
while
a guitar offers
chords
of hope
both
know the tune
all too well
how
love fades
and
lovers lose
what love
they had
all
that is left
is
slow
shadow dancing

 

 

the cat…

the cat

first of all
i should note
that
the cat
never seemed
to
trust me
so
when i would bring
my old friend home
from
a concert
for
he could
no longer drive
at night
i couldn’t help
but
note
that
as i helped my friend
to the door
i could see
eyes peering
at me
from the darkness
it was
the cat
and
the cat
would only enter
the doorway
after i
had left
the immediate area
now
i’m not a believer
in souls
and
such
but
i must admit
the cat
seemed to be
linked to
the old man’s soul
and
as evidence
one night
the cat did not
appear
days went by
and
still no cat
neighbors searched
as
did i
but still
no cat
i presume
the coyotes
finally got
the cat
a natural process
but
none the less
sad
oh
now for the evidence
without the cat
the old man
seemed to quickly fade
becoming more
dependent
upon others
as if
he’d lost
one
of his lives
the cat
never
appeared
and
the old man
disappeared
into
heaven’s ether
i
presume

from one acronym to another…

from one acronym to another

uac
crossing the border
are
apprehended
by
dhs’s
cbp
cbp
and
ice
detain
uac
routinely
for
longer than
six months
then
cbp
transfers uac
to
hhs’s
orr
orr
operates
icfs
to house
the
uac
and
if by now
you’re saying
omg
this all seems like
tfh
shouldn’t we
be
irl talking
about
the almost
7 thousand children
separated
from
their parents
at
the border
then
ygtp

 

 

the black artist…

not that person anymore

rarely invited
though
he’s neatly dressed
small
sweater holes
apparent
fame
for him
has been
a shell game
his life’s work
and
gifts to others
have been 
overlooked
hidden behind
a wall
of
prejudice

 

 

mavors’ fables…

mavor's fables

tell me
no more stories
of
war
i don’t want
to
hear
about
acts of valor
on
the battlefield
or
families left behind
orphaned
by
political
and
corporate greed
no
don’t
tell me
another story
until
you can
raise
the dead