I'm white.
I don't know what it's like
to have a black son
and wonder if he'll get shot
on a walk down the block
because his skin
camouflages him
into the night.

I am white.
I don't know what it is
to fear shots
from the gun barrels of the cops
hired to protect and serve
"us" from "them"
thick boots stomping the block--

cops more **** than Trayvon,
more **** than Mike,
more **** than the pre-teen
with a BB gun
robbed of his life.

I am white.
I don't know how it feels
to bleed out in the streets,
the fruit of my veins
soaking into scorched tar,
my still-open eyes seared
by the August sun.

I don't know how it feels
to lie there, dead,
an echo of ancestors
dangling from trees,
from light poles,
sunk into the Tallahatchie
with barbed wire and a cotton gin fan.

I am white.
Our history is filled with pale devils
enslaving races,
seizing lands,
killing millions--

so if someone's going to get shot,
maybe it ought to be one of us.

I fell in love with the way my name rolls off of your drunken tongue and you slur your way through the consonants. I fell in love with the way your touch wounds me with something like a bullet hole and you leave nothing but a band aid. I fell in love with the way I hear your voice scream "stop" through the smoke in my charring lungs. I fell in love with the way I can see your face at the bottom of my bottle, because we all know you mix best with whiskey. I fell in love with the way you watch me drive through red lights with a wicked grin across your lucid face. I fell in love with the way you leave a toxic haze everywhere you go, you make it impossible to not get drunk on you.

Moonshine on your eyes
My watch tells me lies
Laying down on this truck bed
There is no way it is 4am
Because I feel so refreshed
Like a new day
Another time to see you.

The moonshine drips off my tears
When you tell me that you are not going anywhere
You see, I've hidden what makes me,me
I believed in the make believe
My dreams become reality.
Fairy tales do exist.

The moonshine reflects your soul
You see, it's a little bruised for the skeletons
These ******* skeletons left the fruit flies and the beetles
Caressing your wounded heart.
Your wounded heart stumbles through battle
The dead bodies are the lies
Disney princesses taught you
I want to stop ask
Do you want to come live in my arms?

The moonshine drips out my thoughts
I love you so **** much
Oh **** I didn't mean to do that
Yet you silenced me with the kisses, kisses
That fit with my lips in an ironic way.

The moonshine at 4am feels so new
I can't take my eyes off of you
Your dimples pop up when I tell you
Your response feels like harps playing this songs
A song that makes the cold melt
The moonshine is telling me something.
It's telling me what your lips and your dimples are saying.
I love you.

Is there tear gas in this room?
Because I can't stop crying
The gas crawls down my esophagus
And crushes my wounded heart.

“God this hurts”

I keep typing,
Praying to computer screen
That I'll forget the smell of your hair
I type till my fingers bleed
So I can forget what your touch feels like
How our lips fit perfectly together.

“God I hate myself”

The only phrase I think of
When I'm pleading for things to back to normal
Back to the days
Where you didn't want to to crack open my skull
And see all of the ugly things
That drift around my cranium

“Baby please I'm sorry. I’m a mess,
A klutz, who waltzes around with stupidity
Baby I get this feeling in my head
When you are not around
I want to keep writing you these love letters
By sliding them under your doors called your eyelids”
But I can’t

I sit alone in the bus called life
Looking across my seat
I see you, my love
Holding onto the bar
Your pretty Blue headlights
That make me drawn to you
Your pretty Blue headlights
Covered with the rain I caused
I'm a rain man,
you see, when people get close to me
I get scared
And force the skies rain to tears with pain.


The only thing that floats in my mind
Is that I hope the man of you life
Buys you flowers
Sunflowers especially
And shows up to your work unexpectedly.
I hope you can travel to Paris
and keep a long list of all of the countries
you've cuddled in.
With him.
I hope you he can handle seeing the stars
From your eyes every time you guys cuddle
Under the moon light.
I hope he can teach you how to slow dance
And I hope that he can teach me
On how to be a better man.

someone asked me today what it's like to be a writer and i can tell you this,
my mind exploded into galaxies and i wondered if they could see the twinkling stars in my eyes.
first, i looked into their eyes and saw a black hole, complete and total darkness. so i answered simple to start out with
"it is often quite hard. but for me, it's a way of life."
they didn't quite get it i could see, and asked another question
"oh, is it hard because you get writer's block sometimes?"
i almost let the meteors fly out of my mouth so they would be hit and crushed with the raw fact that being a writer is much, much more complicated than that.
"well yes, that can happen. and when it does it is a crippling feeling. but, it is much more complicated than that. you see, us writers, we not only feel things, but we absorb things. we let things take us over, and once this happens, our hands start to produce words onto paper that come deep within our soul, heart, and mind."
they looked puzzled, but when i looked into their eyes i could see a faint star that was starting to shine. i smiled at this.
"like... what kinds of things?" they asked,
"oh my, it can be something as complicated as love, life, the universe, darkness, pain. but on the other hand, it can be something as simple as leaves on the trees, the ocean, an apple that you just ate for lunch. and sometimes, it is putting those two things together to create something wonderful." i said as the comets were shooting through my fingertips.
i looked again into their eyes, and i began to see a cluster of stars, and that's when i knew i had them.

Once one-hour Photograph
Now instant and digital
So we can Reminisce over
Recent events in
Less than half a Minute.

Mere Memory Stands shadow
to our impatient Vanity
captured in 3 by 5ives
Filed away in
Albums for every occasion.

What use is the Function
If it Needs constant Reminders?

Our inefficient use of time
Leaves us stuck with
Glossy Poser Smiles
and Piles and Piles
of Throw-away Pictures...