I watched them dimiss her on the nightly news
Their crocodile tears for a football coach
outshone the death of a woman who sang the blues
I fell for her when I was quite young
a voice that made me listen to
the words that flowed off of her golden tongue
A female figure on a dim lit stage
and she lived it even into her old age
She'd taken her last breath
And the world almost forgot
But we'll remember you in death,
your name written in St. Peter's tome
Rest in peace Etta
A chorus of angels has taken you home.

A goldfish swimming
it's open mouth closing
A deafening sound

You have two lines here
Please set this up in haiku
Infuriating

Dedicated soul
beaten by authority
Amusing triumph

The droplets gathered
pools of water on the ground
All bland and boring

Dog lipped, Golden hair
Eyes shimmering under star light
Milk skinned, buck toothed
Groping for the edge
screaming, screaming
Why does she make the that sound
Heavy breathing
The smell of cherry blossom wafting through the room
Lashes, 25 lashes glowing red
Warm to the touch
Staring into space
Mouth agape, exhausted
Still reaching for the edge.

Do you see that the things you preach are not shown by your actions
Would you tell a man in public the things he does are wrong
Only to hide in your house and commit the same offenses
Why do you speak at length about Solidarity
Yet turn your head when your brothers are in need
Why do you rely on the same system you despise
It mustn't be all that bad if it's worked for you
Is there truly compassion in your heart for others
I've learned that a man who brags of his altruism has missed the point
Will you tell everyone that you've sheltered the homeless
Will you let them know how you fed the hunger
Have you ever given up so that another could have at least a little

I never knew him
But I had heard some good things
About his sister

We sat on rooftops drinking 40oz of courage
and running toward the edge
Stopping just before we fell.
Throwing bottle after bottle at the tent city below
screaming vulgarities into the night sky

We were the kings and queens of the west,
jumping trains going nowhere
saving up only to throw away
The backwash of a wasted youth culture
An I don't give a **** attitude, that we proudly displayed on our jackets.

Lovers on the lam, and killers on the run
Shoot first and ask questions later adrenaline junkies
Staring into the endless void of space and demanding more
Nomads in the land of our fathers.
there wasn't a problem we couldn't solve, that our parents didn't create

Hailed for our creativity, under fire
A reckless bunch of screaming children, waving their flags higher
Raising their voices louder
And taking shots in the dark.

We were the soldiers of the junkyard, true warriors of virtue
Proud of the heritage we created, and the everlasting bonds formed in blood
Were the few among many, the voice of the people
we were foolish to think that it would last.

Sometimes while I work
Blood will spill onto the floor
and I think of you