Some people's love is like a punishment.
You do something wrong almost every day, to deserve it.
You say something wrong, or leave something out...
they're put out by something everyday day.
It's
your presence.
It's your absence.
You're intelligence, or your stupidity.
For one reason or another, they're always screaming your name.

The loss of you is like a pulse,
I feel it beat somewhere everyday,
heavy on the chest, aching at the neck,
It ticks like time, but time doesn't take it away.

I drag the loss of you like a tail.
You are gone,
and the lack of you became an actual living thing,
attached, like a new part, and also the old, missing piece.
I'm detached, dangling, like a broken missing wing.
It said, "Report what's lost or stolen,"
so I wrote down 'love' followed by your name.

Maybe family roots are calling, so I'll sing back.
Maybe the "streets is watching" -- so I'll wink back.
A city, teeth-deep in tragedy that still talks back.
Detroit, I think we've got something in common, maybe I'll come back.

In the gut of the city, see spots gutted, yeah I know the feeling.
rough and tough, been through enough but there's still bigger-badders threatening.
They say they'll huff, and then they'll puff, and blow your house down again.
This just got hairy, not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.

In the aftermath of perfect disasters in a domino series,
all eyes glue on the ruins, scanning for signs of life & death amid debris,
it's prime-time on Tragedy Channel for train wreck week,
strollin' out of the dirt with a smirk...hey D ---look we're on TV.

Wearing hurt like a shirt, Detroit you're my remedy.
That heartbeat, that house drum, that low, growling energy.
Many think this city is dwindling, Detroit lights are dimming lately.
But listen for that low hum, under the pavement, feel the rumble under your Nikes.

An army survivors, are-me's telling stories in different ways.
Listen to my movement, see me be the music, throttle always open, Motor-City made.
Watch feet jittin' and go cross-eyed, 3000 RPMs in one take.
Music-macguyvers throwing backspins into air-flares, on the snow or in the rain.

Maybe family roots are calling, so I'll sing back.
Maybe the "streets is watching" -- so I'll wink back.
A city, teeth-deep in tragedy that still talks back.
In this city I see myself, we're both about to make a come-back.

HWilliams
12/12

We wait for the moments, but mostly, they wait for us...
to take notice. I notice. And I'm wayward in this sea search, drowning around seaweeds,
dizzy with the thought that these seeds,
over the course of these years,
soaked by my rain puddle of Alice tears
grew to an ocean, now home to schools of strengthened species
who will never ever ever have to cry,
to breathe through weakness or to bleed through pain,
instead--
We dance-- tread in slow motion sound
thread through the song
I am, we are, slave to the drown.
We weep with the waves of sound, they sweep us away, way down
then up,
a shift of weight while weightless,
we wait for the moments, but mostly, they wait for us...
to take notice
to become
to live through
to live through fully
to feel the weight of being carried
by the sound
on waves of sound
we seek to astound
all who see, all who hear
to make them see what we hear,
to make them feel
what we feel
who we are
what we can be.

I weave through this sea of weeds, is seas of sound,
and I think
I start to see me.

H.W.

Tornado
red as a tango
swivel
tip-toe
it can touch the piano
and still simulate the sound
cyclone of siren
the most serious of sounds
in a series of sounds.

H.Williams

It's strange that we mark out our lives
by the decades we live through
by the mile markers we weave through
by the wins and fails we cling to.

On windy days my sails have slumped
then anchored me in storms.
Don't roof the rain, I'll stay
shake fist at sky and scream for more.

These moments that ****
will someday matter more than lists and numbers
generic facts assigned to goals that
mattered more to other people.

I'll pay, take, make more money and less,
same words apply to people.
But moments made, kept, felt in chest
mean so much more than all the labels.

H.Williams

Red thoughts
slide passed filters
underneath avoid sink.
Sometimes sinking leaks through tough skin.
See red.