Being born out of an oil spill
With gasoline swimming in the veins and capillaries
Cells spilling energy
Weeping for the blood of aged ideals
Shoved down the throat
Choking on dissonance and disenchantment

Ideals as clean cut as yours
Are easy to get lost in
Forgetting that your vision
Is fueled by the ants who
Breathe in sulfur and expel energy
For those who do not give them a time of day
And worse so, for those who discredit their life forces
And families who have known nothing
But the trade

If it’s all a dream
Then you have one leg in the door already
Honeysuckle filling the senses
Grass beneath bare feet
Branches wrapping themselves around your body
Like a safe house
Like a security blanket
Comforted by your origins
Remain within simplicity

But you’ll never get to know
The music of the taxis
Playing all the night and day
Signaling that movement is happening
Every day
Every night
Every hour
Every minute
Every second
Every time you bat your lids
For every face you see once in your life
And every train that you happen to miss by a single millisecond

You’ll never comprehend the joy
Upon a child’s face when they see that gray pigeon
Scavenging for crumbs
Padding small feet towards small feet
Knowing that they are equal only in that moment
And the curve of the lines on the man’s face
As he screams into his cell phone
And abruptly brushes past your shoulder
Running down to the corner of William and Cedar
And you losing his face in the crowd
Embracing a part of his anger, a part of his life
Only then and forever

You’ll never understand the value
Of a paved road
Of a rooftop sunset
Of a stranger’s compliment
Of the myriad of blinking lights
Filling the night like the stars you constantly harp on about
Each and every light a life

These are our stars

And if you look closely, you can still see the originators
Framing the sky with dim rays
Serving as both a reminder and a work ethic

There is a price to pay for progress
But without risk
Without passion
We have nothing
And it may be easy
To turn up your nose on those who choose to live amongst
Concrete and haze
Like a PETA member chooses an animal
Over the dignity of a woman
But I assure you that
One day you will forget the value of the clock
But the greatest gift the city has given is
Not a gift
But a reminder
We are all cells on a timeline

As much as we should work hand in hand
To sustain our dreams
Your spitefulness is misdirected and blinded
Choosing the scapegoat of the cover
Over the contents of the book

And as someone born from the oil spill
I find that offensive.

They are the wise
They who sit in trees
And discuss the daily happenings of their fellow comrades
They who shed their homes like winter coats
And disguise themselves as birds
Observing the fields and meadows
Speaking of their mother in high regard
As they turn their noses up at the others
They who question the sanity of the world
And pick apart each work of man
Or anything that has touched their hands
Or their purified bodies
They who shout and shriek at those with nicer rags
While they make mental notes as to rip apart their belongings
They are the wise

I am a fool
I am the concrete foundation of a dilapidated building
I am the dirt that crunches under your feet like autumn leaves
When you step up on the main road to hail a cab
I am the nose on the glass of a department store window
One who spends the day touching tangible matter
And winds up with the night meaning close to nothing
I am the flickering lights in an office cubicle
Going on and off to the beat of a dying daydream
I am the voice who is hollering through the red lights
Confusion setting in as a catalyst to a never ending nightmare
Providing silver slivers of comfort to those stuck running in circles
And to those weeping for the sanctuary of their beings
As bombs are being dropped on their brethren in the distance
We are interrogated by the wise
For being a part of the materialistic cataclysm
With our platinum walls and our glass coffee tables
Singing to the tune of the CEO’s gold pockets
Wiping the sanctity of human interaction away
Into an oblivion of technological advancements
Which are produced with aching hands
In far off lands with people screaming at their lost demands and
The bombs being dropped on their brethren

We say no
While the wise cower in their tall fields of wheat
And run naked through their meadows with the sun shining on their backs
While they bathe under the waterfalls and point fingers at everyone who has ever owned a cell phone
We sit in the middle of crowded, chrome, contradictions that keep everyone else at a distance
While somehow still creating a chaotic sort of unity
To stand under the lights radiating off of shining high rises
To walk with the shadows of anonymity trailing slowly behind us
Into a silent resistance that moves more than mountains that the wise so fondly speak of

For our foolishness is our greatest strength
Martyrs are born, not made

Blinding
Is the orb that dwells in darkness
Surrounding nearby worlds with light and warmth
A necessary addiction
Seen as bizarre in the eyes of a visitor from far off spaces
Stunned by the presence of a god
Pulling and pushing this way and that

Its disciples are separate but alike
Holding steady in the gargantuan influence of a power
So above any object in the system
They spin in awe of it
The spheres of influence
Cannot hold a candle to the bulb

A visitor from distant places
Drawn in like hands to face
So cracked and frostbitten
Touching skin which glows with feeling
Embracing violet blood in care
But burning and boiling in the process
So the hands wrench away
With fear that heat had penetrated too far a surface
No longer secure in its rocky shell
Throws itself back into blackness
Past the disciples
And sees the effects of such an understanding
Between the master and the follower

A little after the departure
Another rock
The closest devotee
Sporadically moving like a mayfly
Scurrying across its pathway
Turns in my direction
Afraid to show affection
One side burned by the fire or proximity
The other frozen by wear and tear
Shows aggression for one minute
And lust for two
Then with every reckless motion
Turns back towards the master
And away from me


There is beauty in the second one
Mesmerizing colors and carefully spoken words
Draw in every visitor
Every other disciple with a flick of a wrist
A breath from its atmosphere stuns most
And captivates others
But I have seen beneath the clouds of grandeur
With every sweet notion turned into spite and malice
Lost within yourself and still behaving like a child
Filling each airway with Carbon Dioxide
Sulfur burning flesh away
Attached to nothing but the ego which flows like magma through canals
Beneath your skin
Jealous of a twin which has a follower
And like the plant true to your name
Any innocent insect is caught in the scent and perishes
So when the sting of betrayal faded, escape was the only option

Red
Iron strung throughout the surface
Dry and rough
Son of Ares
War language spoken fluently only by you
Better than the other disciples
Yet more reluctant and vengeful of the master
When there once was hope
Now lays desolation and defense
But many try and few have come to know
That there once was water beneath the desert
And what is ice without the cold?

The further I am flying
The colder it gets
And another giant surfaces
Not as bright
But strong and jolly
Dionysus in his right
Loved and cherished by the group
Opens his arms and his heart
To the many moons surrounding him
Each a beautiful muse with a brilliant mind
Protecting the others with a kindness so massive
It can only suffocate
Closeness is my greatest fear
And gravity is too strong for my liking
So another exit is inescapable
But I know he’ll keep spinning and waging wars against dependence
On both the rest of the cluster and the master
To whom he is indebted

So close yet a world apart
The glints of your many rings surround your presence
As both a warning and an invitation
To the club of the narcissistic dying artists
Grasping close a talent which places you as an originator
In vain turning into hot air which sits beneath your surface
Lord of time
Holding close those who are down for the count
Of the many you have clasped onto
But later tossed or turned into the following
Of the closed and distant moons
Each one crowned and named queen of the underworld
Tears and heartache
Only for selfish pleasure and self assurance
That you still have some control over yourself in the presence of
The master
Which you try and imitate as much as possible
But just can’t seem to get it right

Exhaustion sets in as the tail slows into a pace
Until the peripheral catches attention
A globe of wind blows past me
A different animal I have yet to dissect
Greets with presents and excitement
Promises of adventure and passion
Though it is too far
And trepidation is too great for one to instantly accept


The light grows dim in these parts
Each disciple now taking their turn to praise the master
Your tint is one I cannot forget
Held in esteem by the others
And as a friend in my icy core
Far and removed, yet present and involved
They look to you as the anomaly
Your abilities astounding everyone
Yet you’re a slave to the master
Losing yourself in a dream world
Forgetting to wave hello to those beneath you
Neglect becomes your companion
And with music as your mistress
It is far too much for me to handle in this plane of deception
Fleeing is becoming a habit which I gladly indulge in


Finally
It has passed
Long behind me
Rays barely visible
And again I embrace darkness
Comfortable in my own sphere
Until I remember you
Frozen in time
The last of the disciples
Forgotten by many  
Insignificant and stationary
Rarely seen by the others
Yet the only one to grab hold of my heart
Like you did
Ice meets ice
Body against body
Frost in the middle of an ice age
Stalemate of two lovers
Gripping each other for warmth that the master had refused to share
Rotating in circles
Confused motions which made both run to the distant blue one for advice
I would have bled for you if I could
But your internal miasma of chaos
Did not bring peace and reassurance
And for once I fled to the master seeking warmth only to be burnt and tossed back again
Where you are now
But this road is different
I will not share it with you

This collective is my discovery
A part of the icy core which will always carry small traces of emotion
Locked within the silver lining of my system
And I am off again to distant lands
Where other masters dwell
Deep within the taunting and captivating unknown
So one day I may burn up entirely
In the grand master
Love.

It's all quiet on the western front
When towers fall and empires crumble
When storms ravage half a country
A thousand screams are silenced by a handful

It's all quiet on the western front
When mothers mourn and monsters meet
Inside of laminate portfolios
With bright futures and buried pleasures

It's all quiet on the western front
When seconds make cents
And it no longer makes sense
To tell them that you love them
Without paper doing it as well as
The trees they carved their names in

It's all quiet on the western front
When blood is used as currency
To buy and polish ammunition
From nations drowning
In the smell of rusted crimson
And think of the children
Who are armed to the teeth
With spite and grief and melancholy
Against the thrumming of their rib cages
With rounds discharged like the veterans
Who were just in the wrong place
But at what time
Did the commander think it wise
To drop explosives on civilians?

It's all quiet on the western front
When business is just for staying busy
Complacent couples with granite counters
Correcting their children in their grammar
Or their choices in careers

It's all quiet on the western front
When adding two and two together
Becomes menial work pushed to the
Calculators made by cracked palms
And shaking fingers which we pay
2 dollars an hour
To do the tasks our brittle bodies
Had enough of the first time a television
Switched on, the first time someone
Picked up a bottle, the first cigarette ever lit
in the suburbs

And the yelling is done in an organized fashion
With labels thrown up in the air
And as the prosecution rests
The poor boy's family hold their heads
As if the ceiling would start to cave in
On itself and like the system
It is truly hell to barely scrape
By life only to brush by death's
Shoulder and regret 300 years worth of unity
Which separates the equal and demeans
Those who try to be
And to those peering out across
The scarlet sea, the shine
And gold may be worth the trials and
Tribulations but tenacious souls
Need only know that gold is rock and
Crystal sheen is merely a reflection
Of the destruction and the silence
And the demons that we will not confront

And in the presence of a microphone
The world falls still
And wonders if the speaker will respond
Or if they won't


It's still all quiet on the western front.

Inhale
One eye opens
Pick yourself up
Legs swing sideways
The singer hits a high note
Hit the snooze button

Grab a toothbrush
Pick the paste
Rinse and repeat
Smile
Floss
Rinse and repeat
Dry your face

Face wash - $6: to brighten your complexion
Banish oil from your sleeping pores
Concealer and Foundation - $24
A fresh face can open many doors




Mascara, Eyes, and Brows
12
7
5
Bat them nice and pretty
How happy to be alive

In this day and age
You want the spotlight?
They give you backstage
Point your attention to the nearest exits
As the audience laughs at those
Who waste and mar your presence

In the eye of the storm
For every Pakistani baby that is born
The chances of their mother to still be breathing
Are low to none
Accompanied with every passing minute for a female child
Who will never be fully grown

But if by some chance she does survive
She will never know, or make, or expect
To be treated with as much respect as the guys
And knowledge will be limited by money
And white people who trade books for religious pledges different than her own

She moves and tries with each sun and moon
She finds herself inside a room
A glowing screen and a telephone
In a small moment of peace she tries to remember what her home looks li….
“Ma’am? Ma’am? Can you repeat that please, I can’t understand your accent?”

So when she hangs up in a huff
And turns around to face her lovely husband
And 3 beautiful kids
She opens her mouth to complain about the foreigner
Only to hear that he has had enough
And as the breakfast she made for them at 5 o’clock in the morning
Slips off his plate and onto the floor
She reminds herself
“Yes, I know. This is life. This is love.”

And she will not question
And she will not fight
Because they preach you all of your rights
And since she was taught to read and write
She should at least remember some of them
Right?

No.
For as a wee girl sitting in a corner
With bruises on her wrists, her thighs, and ego
Her first thought was not law, but
“why?”

Why do we cling to a culture of corruption and confusion?
In this time of hypocrisy and delusion
Which is older than the words themselves
But when written together
Become every woman’s personal brand of hell?

Because they tell you who you are and where you’re from
Plus, where you’ve been and whom you’ve known matter
So choose carefully and don’t walk around in a miniskirt
In the middle of the night
You ****

With feminine modesty
Pink is the color of choice
Especially in the hearts of those young boys
Who wanted nothing but to please their fathers
Even if they asked for an easy bake oven
And their mother shook her head as he pleaded for a toy
Clearly not made for a young boy

It’s hard to look into the talking screen
And tune out only parts you want to hear
Without fueling the colossus of a machine
That has been raising us like lambs for slaughter
But I am not just a father’s daughter
And for every voice that is silenced in fear, in anger and in plight
Ours will echo that much more loudly in the night

Put down your bag
Set the alarm
Close your eyes
Exhale

Know that there is no other way to reach you
Though there’s a phone attached to your hip
And an ear attached to your head
You still refuse to listen

With every word and every melody
A battle, loss or victory
The mistakes pile on and become regrets
Still, you continue to repeat them
Like a broken needle scratching the glossed over surface of a record

What will you do when the music stops
When all those sleepless hours turn days into nightmares
When your **** diet finally destroys your body
And the floor cracks beneath your 200 dollar adidas adorned feet?

I took you for a friend
But you took me for a ride
The escalator that pushes every pound
Every hour of every day
Wishing to ascend you into glory

But if I’m going down, I’m taking you with me

Blame yourself!
Take your self- loathing and turn it into words
Those words into lyrics
Those lyrics into *****
Regurgitate the expectations
But throw in some drum and bass

While everyone is dancing
Smile for your success
Your friends by your side
Smile for your fame
Your woman at your feet
Smile a smile so big
That the sun will bow down to all of your brilliance
Your ego basking in its rays
And shake off the naysayers in your path
Suppress the signs of superstitions
But don’t be surprised when no one is around
To see or document the crash

Oh the beautiful process of turning neglect into excuses
Excuses into indifference
Indifference into ignorance
Ignorance into lies
And lies into alibis

I’ve seen it before
I’ve felt the excruciating feeling of betrayal
And the death of a trust so pure
That the glimmering void could not have reached it
And there you were optimistic and determined
Blind and arrogant

Beethoven is rolling in his grave
Every tear a key
I don’t usually promote a downfall
But there are consequences to intended misery
It will seep into your skin
Into every pore and every vein and capillary
Flowing through your system like the Hennessy
You guzzled at the studio in the wee hours of the morning

Place your bets!
This addiction to the thrill of the fall will be your end
Instead of all the money, you’ll eventually lose your head
Like you had already lost a friend
Or two
Or three
Or why not more
You are better than you were before
Progress is the only way to stay
Locked inside of yourself and out of reach
Out of touch with those who scattered the stars in every direction
Just to clear a path for you

The sweet sound of a dying soul
Integrity decapitated by the only blacksmith in the business
Runs around screaming
Like a chicken with its head cut off
****** ****** ******
Declared delectable when you bought the fries

If music is your only love
Then going deaf will be poetic justice
Tones and tunes lost in the wind
Like the flap of a butterfly’s wing
Ushering honesty and freedom
All the things you tried but could not be
So you buried them next to me
And walked away

Though the promise is broken
You forgot the most important detail
I am not a new player in this game
You have yours, and I have mine
I will not dart and dissolve like I did once when I had hope
I had told you about it before
But I guess you didn’t listen

A sudden stop
Momentum pushes the group forward
Yet they latch on to keep their stature
The questions are longing for a vessel
But no one dares to vocalize
As if this happens all the time
- And it does

One closest to the door
Starts the search for answers
To confirm the hunch on his beliefs
And as he presses the red button
The green light flashes repeatedly  
And as moments pass
There is no reply
As if this happens all the time
- And it does

They all stand tall and weary
They all sit quietly with no regard
Staring into the dark matter outside the windows
And wait for a sign
That the dull will return
And wash away exasperation
As if this happens all the time
- And it does

Suddenly a voice
Coming from above their heads
Urging them to stand and move in one direction:
Forward
And as they rise and march on
They keep their faces stoic and
They keep their eyes high
As if this happens all the time
- And it does

Step by step
One foot leaps across the spaces
The other trails behind
Quickly and precise
Warding off the fear that one may slip below
Into the chasm  
And into the eyes of someone else
To carve up the same fate
As if it happens all the time
- And it does

As they reach the end of their trek
The previous voice from the ceiling
Materializes with a face
That responds to that question
With nothing but a nonchalant excuse
And they nod and exit
As if this happens all the time
- And it does

As their feet hit the platform
The fluorescent lights blind
And as they ascend the stair case
They turn and see a swarm of blue men
Shouting commands and searching the
Void with nothing but flashlights
As they continue on
They find that all other pathways have been taped
So they continue up a moving pathway and
Eventually arrive to find concrete above it all
As if this happens all the time
- And it does

Do they return to their routines
with those 13 minutes of discomfort
ingrained within their ribcages?
Do they feel the pulse of the Earth
reverberate under the soles of their feet?
Do they breathe in wantonly
and fill their lungs with the energy of the metropolis?  
Do they carefully listen to the synapses of the streets
firing into separate directions?
Do they retract and weep for the single cell
lost within the fray of nature and facades?

No. They cannot.
And neither can I
As if this happens all the time

- And it does.