Personal flowers dropped
Five spaces apart,
Life inside a bubble of dust,
Grace and places you'd rather be,

Form, thought,
Plenty enough,


Methods of trancing,
Without question or dignity,

Valueless buttons,
Strong out against the night,
Playing frugally,
With a never ending face,

Missing a hole to get in

You've lived a long life, burning through each day with a passion barely bridled by gravity
Expelling an otherworldly essence
Drawing me into your orbit, with a hug around my shoulders
Your hands planted firmly on my cheeks was an interstellar daydream
You put me between stars
Now you're fading
And no matter how many light-years away
I'll still feel your supernova
And that's okay
Your nebula will always shine
And your stardust will still burn bright as the eyes that bore witness to your life

The music in my mind, is not the song they like.
They want to change the tune, just for their delight.

Crazy is what they'd call me, but I would not deny,
I love the way I am, no that is not a lie.

The ones dressed in white, and the others dressed in blue,
They tell you that they'll help, but what can they do?

Slip a pill down your throat, put a smile on your face,
Make sure to always accept a warm, loving embrace.

They can't make the shadows go away, because you need the sun in your life,
Just like how you can't rid of kitchen appliances; a steak needs a sharp knife.

So instead they'll numb your senses, so you'll never feel the pain,
I've never heard of something quite this inhumane.

Keep me away from there, they'll never let me out.
I will fight against my will, don't even try to doubt.

Just let me be, I'll find a way, to live another day,
Because I will refuse to eat hospital food on a little dusty tray.

Let me sing my song, you can listen if you please,
But do not stop the track, unless I start to sound like Lise.

A man sits diagonally in front of me
to my left in the diner
Over his shoulder, I see
he’s navigating Facebook
on a cheap laptop
Behind him, I’m writing this poem
Every 13 seconds a notification rings
He has a Facebook message
The notifications are messages from a woman
She types heart shapes in place of words
It is the standard online flirtation
that has replaced real relationships
He is quite popular
as he eats toast with purple jelly
and sits alone

People once came to diners
to chain smoke cigarettes
and drink pots of coffee
and think
and talk
and read poetry
We didn’t have much
but we had each other
Now we’re individuals
who sit in silence
alone

Some of us get chat notifications
Some of us write poems
All of us still get the coffee
and the toast
with purple jelly

Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
     I heard a ***** play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
     He did a lazy sway . . .
     He did a lazy sway . . .
To the tune o' those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
     O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
     Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man's soul.
     O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that ***** sing, that old piano moan--
     "Ain't got nobody in all this world,
       Ain't got nobody but ma self.
       I's gwine to quit ma frownin'
       And put ma troubles on the shelf."

Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some more--
     "I got the Weary Blues
       And I can't be satisfied.
       Got the Weary Blues
       And can't be satisfied--
       I ain't happy no mo'
       And I wish that I had died."
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that's dead.