i see the flyer at starbucks

"are you caucasian?
without mental health
and drug problems?"

wow
i don’t know the answer to any of these questions
is a jew a caucasian?
is the occasional naked, ****-slamming drunken rampage
a drug problem?
as for mental health
i’m a deadbeat poet and unpopular pop musician
i’ve got a job fighting death and boredom
and i just changed my facebook password to "eat ****"
my frustrations have driven weaker souls to homicide
but are these PROBLEMS?

social justice activists
online P.C. warriors
are ending free speech

Quick! Call the poetic constabulary
I'm mincing words about my vocabulary
Help! I'm drowning in my thesaurus
evidence that i'm merely a brontosaurus

Listen up to my Greek chorus:
"Such silly word play should place her in poem prison
a ponderous place from which few have risen
Locked in the cell, losing her sense
consequence of writing with no poetic license"

Writing on with no reason or rhyme
just doing my poetic time
iambic meters bite me in the ****
trying to force me out of my sonnetic rut

stumbling on ideas most trite
all the pitfalls of making the choice to write

went and gone
into your time
after its time

that was love
the discontinued
instant messenger
never coming back

felt just like squanto
heart still sinking
returning to
nothing left to return to

The son of man
Jesus Christ
Headed to river Jordan
True to the prophesy,
To meet John the Baptist.

Opening the sky
Father above
Jesus in
Jordan River
The Holy Sprit
Incarnated in a dove
Were revealed
The 3-in-1 mystery
To  solve.

This as a backdrop,
Carrying replicas of the
Ark of the covenant
On their head,
Putting on
Gold-embroidered
Motely religious robes
Priests go to a nearby river
By the laity
Tagged, flanked
And lead.
In white costumes attired
The laity
Who have dressed to ****
Leave no space
On the road to fill.
The colorful procession
Grabs undivided attention.

Melodies hymns
Ear-and-heart-
Pleasing Music
Of harps and many a drum
An electrifying
Effect is the sum.

History has it
That
Ethiopia has been
Celebrating
Epiphany
Keeping originality
As never before
“Ethiopia raises its
Hands to God!”
Is  witnessed
In Ethiopia’s Epiphany
Magnified manifold.

Reverberates the song
“Headed to River Jordan
The son of man! ”

Inspiration strikes like lightning--
Wait, no, scratch that.
I’m really trying hard not to be cliche.
Inspiration strikes like the common cold:
It creeps up slowly and dreadfully
Until I’m spewing snot out of my nose
And coughing up nonsense for a week.  
That’s actually a bit more accurate.

How often do you catch a cold?
Once a year.
Maybe twice.

Currently I am writing uninspired;
Linguistically constipated.
Maybe I’m just a bad writer
Or maybe the act of writing was only meant
To punctuate my emo phase
Because then I was a teenager
And the possibility of living off of poetry
Was only a fun idea
And not a requirement.

How often do you think about money?
Just as often as
Everybody else does.

It’s (almost) as though artists
Must continuously invite sickness
Into our lives to remain active creators.
I’m sabotaging my immune system
So that I’ll be sick enough
To see the world as a tyrant
Who can be brought to justice
Only through the power
of my martyred voice.

It’s society making me sick,
Not me,
Why would I do that to myself?
I’m just trying to make a living
The best way I know how.

i can't wait until we go through with 25A
once we remove trump from office
then ALL of our problems will go away
& world peace will be here to stay

i better start practicing telling everyone
what they can and can not say.