My throat is raw and when I cough, there's blood.
But I'll still sing for you.

if you asked me, i'd tell you
that i started reading the master & margarita
in st. petersburg...
then in the warsaw airport...
and that i liked tsar peter's pickled foetuses...
but that i found the hermitage
a bit leopard-print leotard tacky,
i mean a little bit ****;
nah i mean really really **** ha ha,
i mean it was like a carboot sale in essex of a gallery:
classics just jumbled up, a junk shop in the least;
homelesssness of paintings invoking
a translation of the cube into traffic parallels:
like a desecrated jewish graveyard of paintings
stacked against each other like tombstones.

I can hear them in the distance
Sounds of their engines roaring
The hounds are on me
Flashlights and pistols aimed at me
Its just moments away
No point in running
Its all over
My life
My future
All those memories I promised her
Fading away
The closer they get
I can see them
Blue lights flashing
They wanted me
I'll sit on this cold asphalt
Waiting for those steel bracelets
To cup my wrist with anger
Its all over
Tin gods with badges and a gun
Surround me
Birds of supposed justice
Feed on my carcass
Draining the remaining hope I had
Of finally make something of myself
I'll be another soul
Cast out of society
Ex convict with nothing to show
Just tattoos and stories from jail

When beauty grows too great to bear
   How shall I ease me of its ache,
For beauty more than bitterness
   Makes the heart break.

Now while I watch the dreaming sea
   With isles like flowers against her breast,
Only one voice in all the world
   Could give me rest.

"You're the kind of girl
that artists, poets, and musicians
have been obsessing over
since the beginning of man,"
he sighed and traced
the outline of my spine.

I'll laugh and agree,
reduce myself to
your fictional ideals
of a manic pixie dream girl,
if that'd make you want me.

By: Cedric McClester

Three years since Sandy Hook
Yet a mother still cries
Because memories live on
And the pain never dies
But little has changed
You begin to realize
Seems we haven’t learned
What we should despise

Twenty children and six adults
Murdered that day
Amid the screams and shouts
But it wasn’t the guns
So the NRA flouts
In the aftermath of chaos
They’re casting doubts
In between the tears and crying bouts

Nine hundred and ninety-four
School shootings since then
So we must ask ourselves
Will it ever end
Or what will it take
To make it suspend
Having more guns
Isn’t the answer my friend

The pursuit of life and liberty
Is an unalienable right
While that well may be
It’s probably a right
That we won’t get to see
As long as we allow
Bullets to fly free
We lose our lives and our liberty




















Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015.  All rights reserved.

Ripped
crumpled sheet of paper tossed to the floor
remnants of writing...
yet to be completed

clues
everywhere...

lipstick smudges halfway up the page
a Kiss Given
for the Hot footprint of Life.
This ones for Desire.

Rage.... Red and Heavenly
like the eggs of an unborn salmon,
Translucent  Illumination
ready to be swaddled in  its own afterbirth,

No rocks in site to hide them under.
Heavy in their fullness

Drama of life and death.

Wisdoms Great Suffering knowledge
It will all come to an end
and mean nothing anyway

Such is the husbandry  of the Stars.

and yet they remain Lovely...
Twinkling Visions of God-ness.
Wonder Crystallized.
Life Immortal.

And So It Is