vessel…

these are not
my emotions
this anger
and fear
is older than
my years
upon this earth
it is the taste
of dried blood
and the dust
of those once
enslaved
freed by death
to wander with
whatever winds
reach into soul
to reanimate
their words
so their sorrow
and stories
can be retold
these are not
my words
so expect
no apologies
or
absolution
of social sins
the dead
cannot make
such offerings
to the living
they can only
recall the sins
you’ve lived
and
the pain
you’ve bestowed

university dining…

the chocolate
gingerbread man’s
decorated
with
just enough
white frosting
to
fit in well
for
the private feast
served
on
white plates
never
part of
the main meal
just a bit
of
table ornamentation
more like
a part
of
the table service
with limited
utility
in the eyes
of
the users
needless
to say
the wear and tear
gradually
breaks off
parts
and
so
soon
even
the memory
of
that time
together
is
lost

 

other people’s problems…

their tears and sadness
should not disturb your night’s sleep
sounds outside your door
should be ignored but you might
have to lock doors tomorrow

 

incantation to the dead…

child
there ain’t
no use
talking to the dead
your
calling upon
them
to
help the living
just
ain’t got a chance
in
hell
of changing a damn thing
do you
really
believe
they care
whether
or
not
a child goes to bed hungery
or
some common man
gets
evicted from his home
cause
he can’t pay the rent
or
whether
or
not
some working person
loses their job
and
can afford to meet
their family’s
most
basic needs
hell
you better take
a closer look
those bodies
you see seated
are
mere apparitions
of
what
might
have been
alive
once
but now
they just occupy
a senate seat

 

small seeds of life’s fortune…

penny found on street
a lost soul without a home
deemed worthless by most
no one bends to pick it up
life’s true fortune cast aside

 

formication…

i
listen
for
sounds
just beyond
these
invisible doors
wondering
if
anyone
hears my words
i ask myself
are these poems
just
ushered
into
darkholes
where
each
simile
and
metaphor
are pulled
into
fields
of
apathy
from
which
they will never
escape
nor
send
back
signals
of
their survival
it would appear
the
whole
process
is like that
of
faith
belief
beyond
reason
writing
to
cleanse
that
feeling
of
insects
crawling
beneath
society’s
skin

 

ain’t left the station…

been sittin’ for years
posters on the walls have changed
even have been able
from time to time to change seats
but freedom’s  train ain’t arrived

 

the gnat’s complaint…

these webs
are
so unjust
flies
always die
staring
into
my eyes
with
the most
incriminating looks
as if
i
were the one
who spun
this web
but
i
and
those generations
before me
have been
trapped
within
these fibers
of
lies and promises
for
centuries
had i
been born
with
more mass
i
would have flown
right through
this
social web
no more
inconvenienced
than
needing
a quick shower
afterwards
but
that is not the case
i
linger here
as
a bit of amusement
and
as
a morsel
for
a boring day
a systemic slave
the quintessential
essential worker
to be
devoured
or
left
to
just
decay
and
die