Lost soles .
       . . . never free . . .
Follow me . . . see . . . have no fear .
           But you have handed me  . . .
one left shoe and a-not- her .

Come old lady who lives in the shoe . . .
Where are your children ? ? ?
. . . a little unsteady ?

Lost soles to memory , like Kentucky lightning on a warm Alabama night .
All hail the underdog .
All hail  . . .

The first left one fits nicely
But the right foot has disagreement . . .
feeling he has been left out .

They shot a lot of black men,
this year.

Men with power and uniforms.
They were shot, too.

Schools were bombed
bullets scattered
& teachers, like me, had panic attacks practicing
drills, imagining their students’ bodies
riddled with shrapnel.

& we argued about gun control,
racism,
immigrants,
walls.

Injustice permeated the coffee I drank to calm myself.
Sorrow waltzed along the edges of cheerful conversations
in the grocery store.


White men and women took to platforms,
insisting their version of justice could correct
the suffering.

No one really believed them.
Presidency became a mockery
Division made more clear.


Over three hundred died in Baghdad,

no one flew their flag.

Maybe we were tired of avatars with flags of nations other than our own.
all suffering.
Perhaps so much compassion was overwhelming.
It could be that skin color meant more than I thought.


The skin color I wore,
Light, spattered with freckles,
made my compassion a condescension.
--how could I understand?

we
as the world
are living in fear
we are
cradled
by its restricting arms
sung to sleep with
lullabies and hymns
of shrieking souls
and scorching tongues
our hair is stroked
by the claws
of fear
by the piercing nails
it sharpens
to pick the locks
into our minds
fear has erased our memories
it has made a place inside of us
it has set up its bed
it has turned out the light
and it has sincerely
wished us all
goodnight.

Tonight good Duncan, friend and guest
This dagger shall pass through thy breast
I shall be king as was the prophecy and belief
Told by the hags upon the heath

Unsexed like them, my Lady chides me still
For my kindness and uncertain will
Even as my dagger drips once more
And blood from noble Banquo stains the floor

Now in blood so far I'm steeped
Only can I wade more deep

But this horizon leads no longer to infinity
Steadily it closes in on me
Slow but marching all the same
Toward the hill at Dunsinane

And though those warning words I scorned
Not all men are of woman born
Thus proves the prophesy no lie
Live by the sword and therefore by it die

I have been taught
by those much wiser
and more experienced
that if I am disturbed,
I have in some way
caused the disturbance.
Whether by ignorance
or inaction,
intent or mistake.
I am responsible
for the actions
I take; no one
can "make me"
do or feel anything.

Practice does not make perfect;
practice makes permanent.
Be ****** careful, then,
what you practice.

Where the hills don't roll
They sink low
And fall into the ground
The sky swallowing what is left

We can be backwards

The hub is the heart
The roads are the veins
Highway arteries
And the river is polluted

Fort Worth stockyards
Cattle drives and mavericks
Rangers in the field
And stars on ice

A place out west where the cowboys lose

A place I saw my blood first hit the ground
My childhood home

I havent been there in such a long time
Its no longer real to me

On the first day of the last week
A girl wrapped in gold did appear
She whispered to the people of the land
Who knew their ending was near
She softly uttered these words:
"This can all be avoided still
The destruction, the chaos
The end all be all"
     The people shouted and cursed
Throwing rocks and casting stones
They all wanted to just return home
Each worldly word fell on deaf ears
For the rocks and stones clouted
The girl of gold with fear
     On the second day of the final week
A boy clothed in silver did appear
He spoke to the people of the land
For he knew of the crimes they committed the day before
"You can repair the damages done
But only within one last day
You still somehow have hope"
     The mayor of these people
Stepped forth and pleaded with
His kin, his brethren
But his words fell on deaf ears
For he and the boy of silver
Were slaughtered by once innocent people
     On the third day of the final week
A screaming light tried to save them
But the darkness of the hearts of the land
Swallowed the light without thought
     Days later
On the final day of the final week
The world was visited by the four who died
Each voice was powerful
Each voice was echoing
The people had been warned
But now their choices came back for hauntings
Each rush of negativity ever uttered
On the now barren earth
Fueled the four deities who had tried to help
And their great power
Engulfed the world in flames

     On the first day of the first week after the final week
The grass was replenished
The sky was once again clear
The poison that rushed through the veins of those people
Finally eradicated
A new race emerged slowly
To repopulate the world
But they had not yet been created
So all that rested on the
First day of the first week after the final day of the final week
On a perfect green hill
Under a perfect blue sky
Grew a single flower
Seven petals
One for each day of the week