The headlights, as always,
were blinding.
The End
was carried in discomfort between us,
its warm air pushing sweat
from our pores.
Some lost cells lead us to this point,
the word "tumor" hanging
                        numb
                        in the air.
There, we had no choice
       but to leave the conversation;
       unsatisfied, but now
       more aware of what lingers
       in the shadows cast by
       headlights at dusk.

Get up.
Put on clean pants, a clean shirt.
Brush your teeth, god ******, and floss em
too.
I know, today the demons are howling
poison in a ceaseless ringing in your skull; every appendage aching heartily with each movement. Keep moving. Don't be
consumed by it. Don't listen.
Drink your morning coffee, have
your morning ****. Wipe til the paper runs clean.
Get up - go outside.
Breathe deep; count to a thousand, listen to the wind in the leaves and the honking of busy people that can't wait. Listen to the soft coo of morning doves and listen to the ceaseless coarsing of blood as it runs in circles throughout your body.
Watch birds float, intertwined in a back-and-forth that may be familiar. Watch them
swoop this way and that, pecking and chirping.
Get up.
I'm pleading, begging
please get up.
If not right now, if not today,
when?

To talk about race.
It ain't my place
to talk about murdering innocent people.
It ain't my place
to talk about chaos.
It ain't my place
to act in anger; it ain't my place.

It ain't my pace,
to heave headfirst into battle with a burst of hatred.
It's dated. Antiquated. Don't devastate the devastated.
It seems senseless to fight this menace
that is our own. That we have grown
using ignorance.

It ain't my place
to presume to know what anyone is going through.
So to you and you and you,
I'll take a step back before I raise and fire
the crack of a whip
that is born from hatred.
I refuse to take the bait
of the crimson painted faces
whose hopes are killed at the hands
of their brothers. I refuse
to fire back, bullets crack
at the community
filled with emotional action.
It's wasteful, and frankly faithful people
look to each other. So look.

A minivan sits in a parking lot.
Nothing exceptional
but 3 red
"don't text and drive" bumper stickers
and another white one
too.
Projecting
angst and loss, they want to tell
the world what to do.
Can you blame them?

I hear you,
and I'm sorry that someone
else
wasn't listening.

The artistry of protection;
the elegant deception.

Poisons of the mind,
And their bitter antidotes.

If my life is a work of art,
Then it is community theatre.

And I am thankful
To everyone who keeps
The curtain
From closing.

*Thank you

Stay naive.
Keep believing in people. Keep believing

that destruction only creates more
destruction.

Keep looking for
the beauty in every second, even if

you work for $11.25 an hour and don't really like

what you're doing. That reminds me,
don't do anything

that doesn't make your heart work when you think of it.

Love.
It's simple and nothing is more important.

Finally, do yourself a
favour and create. Create, create, create.

I sit in a coffee shop
pump pump pump
goes my chest
pump pump pump
goes my diaphragm
pump pump pump
goes these hiccups
pump pump pump
it's rhythmic and
pump pump pump
obtrusive.
2. I lay in bed
pump pump pump
unconscious, unresponsive.
pump pump pump
A stranger presses two
pump pump pump
metal paddles to my chest.
pump pump pump
It's rhythmic and
pump pump pump
obtrusive and
pump pump pump
temporary.