Don't Panic, BE AWESOME!

there are times when the bruises are healingthere are timeswhen the world is falling apartand it takes every ounce of strengthto keep from crashing fist through glass shards,flipping tables, and smearing feces in your hairwhile screaming in panicthings are never as bad as they seemor so the saying goesOya’s arrival is often greetedwith wailing, weeping, and the grinding of teethbut the permanent…

beneath the waxing moon we are grateful for the promise the year of the snake has waitingthere are Billionaire potentatesand their minions assembledwith intentions on rulinga world they already ownit is with a penitent heartwe acknowledge Saint Sabbatianand ask the Most High Godfor his patience as we pronounceour resolutions for the calendarwaiting to unfurlLess liesmore humorless vain…

What if I told you that Nikki Giovanni like Tupac Shakur had a Thug Life tattoowould you believe me?There are photographs but those can be digitally manipulated  you have to trust me because they will bury her with itand you can’t visit the museum to see it. YOU CAN spread her words like pollen.You can tell them she lived & married her mother. You will learn her name.You will say her name.She…

Have constructed brick wallsput stickers on the back of laptopsand made misery out of silencethe Dragon stalks my inner clock works ass nakeddrinking bowls of spoiled milkand watching reto-wrestling matchestrying to pretend he doesn’t know the outcomea predetermined eulogythe fake deitiesevangelize to the cultivated flocksof true believersto illusioned to know the differencebetween searching and…

on wobbly barstoolsin dark tavernsthe hurried world is a full stop the cantankerous,the crestfallen,and the abandoned meet, greet, and mingle we are a fellowshipof cracked Matryoshka dollsshowing off our hamstrung hidden inside and the beer is cold enough to freeze the momentand the lies get painted whiskey and tequilaand every so often one of us diesso we make merry and wait our turn there…

was conceived in frenzy of fist fightingpushed into the world the wrong waya veil over my open eyes been a seer all my life know the devil rides his dressage horseto the church houseand often gives the sermon on Sundaywith the faint miasma of a child’s chastitysnickering below his robes this world can be a deep freezerfull of rapacious predatorswho grin before the cameras flashingbut demon…

if you hold your breath correctlyand blow the air from inside you lungsthe vortex creates a toroidal bubblea temporary ring of waterthat floats to the surfaceand dissolves against the face of the water the depth of the water mattersbut no matter how deep you swimand lie and make promises and vowsthese rings are only ephemeraland should not be trusted to last. pity the divers who play gameswith…

she treats me like a pet monkeygives enough of her palm to devour the Mazuri & the back of her hand when I won’t be obedientthere is nothing like alone crumbled flakes of miserable aches the grinding of teeth into rumbledouble dutch with livewireshurting me is a carnival gamemy feelings are mine to protect but she knows how to play me like a celloopening my heart like a shoe box taking everything…

along a slim road the signsare hard to decipher from a distancethere is a path to something betterbut the steering wheel plays like a slide pianoyou swerve, veer toward the shoulder,in a consistent course correction how to do the right thingat the right time to remain safe there are detours and construction zonesstop signs and the railroad crossinglooms heavy with dangerif you are ever stopped…

the day is a bouquet of disappointment the chatterbox whines incessantly about disasters unfixable foreign tragedy & the coroner’s report the world is on fire constantly someone somewhere is inconsolable and Jesus though RIsen has decided to leave us to our own devices The Preachers need more tithes, the bills pile up, and Trump plans trips around the country looking for fools who will…

the green projectiles passing by my lawn, firefly into blackness, make me wonder if wishes come true. the 5 my courageous eye fist could decipher streaked, giggled, then dissolved into second guesses. I’m sure she isn’t watching them she is sure I am a lunatic standing staring up at the soup spoon hoping that God blinks at me a few hundred times before the hour ends. my life is a…

the coordinates are littered with strands of vascular remnants. pockmarked, potholed, and crumbling. the impasse that was my most fevered wish is completely inaccessible. wish it were a Widow’s mourning that has ruined my journey  but this unexamined pathway’s tragedy is my failure. So I weep without warning, drink without quench, and presume, like all fools lost without shepard, that my own…

and so it begins…

the clouds bring frost with shivering pecan, sangria, and butterscotch.the horizon full of spectacle.having over done & out performedmy expectationsthe Hunter’s finds me thankfulbut eager for the Beaver to arrive.we were alonelast Harvestspent most of the Cold Moonindoors and clinched togethernow that St. Helena has adornedour goodbyes with prayersthe inevitable conclusion to our ruptured…

All the peppermint canes have gone sour. The fat man rests.The elder year waits in labor & delivery for the new calendar.my memories are a gumbo cooked full flametill the rue is black & burned bitter  the planned celebrations feel withering and decayedburied deep inside my flap pocket I stow away my resolutions More naps.Less whining about things I can not changeBrunch when it is…

In the heart of an immigrant are better daysleaving everything you know for everything you dreamIn the soul of a champion there is some defeat & practice& perseverance in spite of detractors and criticsin this way immigrants are championsthey know that brighter days & greener grassbear fruit but it takes work to build dreamsfaith isn’t magic it takes work for true believersthat dream of lofted…

Gave up on changing the pastbefore it was proven to me that I’m going to die.Memories taste,dreams disintegrate,concentration obsesses over inspiration.  Waiting around to waste more time.Drunk, High, Drunk, over sexed and sleep.Alone. Lonesome. Present in the moment of exodus.The Zombies in my area steal: detergent, Newports, and cases of Hennesy.Lurking in the same clothes, pacing the…

there are few things worse than Cubs fansyesterday they threw behind Brandonand when the crowd grew restless  Our heroes unavailablethe Cubs fans sat there in their stupid hatsmaking faces.the Sox fans are to be tolerated in short dosesthey had their time in the limelightswept the Astros out the seriesthough it took them forever to do it.before their recent glorythe Cubs cursed and buffooned…