Our very souls are beaten into cages
of domestication
With ****** Fists
of Business Men.

Our freedom,
a squirming, squealing mouse
in claws-
fighting to escape
its captivity.
But like the caged rabbit,
hurling its self at steal bars-
steal bars don’t bend easy
it takes big hands,
business hands on high hills
but “if you want to be like the man on the hill,
you have to learn to smile as you ****.”

But the rabbit and the mouse,
beating and screaming,
against bars and claws
were created weaker than the capture-
And the cage keeps becoming
stronger, with diamonds.
And the bars shrink into the background.
Claws covered in silken honey.

But deranged rabbits hurl themselves
and bleeding mice struggle to beat
the order of things
and the cats nibble jaws squeal
shut.
And little children scream
to know the cruelty of reality.

I was driving on the highway
at a skipping 70.
Singing along to 80’s top 10
phrases like“everybreath you take” and “total eclipse of the heart”
splurged off my tongue.
Waving out the last ember of my cigarette
like a star in a constellation

            I was drivin' back home after a
            10 hour flight and 1 week business trip.
            2 hours of sleep were guarded under my seat belt.
            The windows were down, the air conditioner was blastin'
            I was brakin' all the stops to stay awake
            Come on! my ****** eyelids wouldn’t stay open
            they kept slidin' closed as if 100 pound weights were clipped onto my eyelashes
            like those freaks in the Guinness world record--
            or something---
            focus.....focus.... slurred off my tongue as red carlights blurred
            and danced to a balletic symphony of speed.
                      

                        The Choreographed Cars All In Spaced Lines
                                               Flashed By
                        A Black Ranger Extended His Hand To a
                                                  Toyota
                        Dance with me?
                        The processed metals leaned close to
                        One another
                        Twirling their wheelings on the ground
                        Pirouetting
                        Other cars joined in
                        Tumbling on top of each other
                        Glass showered upon them like flower petals.

My cigarette was jammed into the dashboard
and the sirens of melodic ambulances
            were in my ears.

High

The mountain

takes the sky above it and the black sand below

and raps them in his breath.

Rolling high above the waves and barnacles

My cheeks sting red from the skipping ride across the cove.

the mountain hasn’t changing, a constant.

I have traveled its omnipotent rode, many times.

My innocence scattered along the path

like dew.

The trek is easier now.

I am stronger. The mystery is gone now.

Once the woods held secrets and treasures for thought

and every step was a triumph.

The winding path was

an epic journey

and the elements threatened defeat.

Stumbling and sweated I’d reach the top.

The all encompassing spirit

would rap me up in her arms

and whispered sweet dreams of the future

the brevity of life

disappeared in my greatness and significant being.


Harder times sold the wonder from beneath my resting head

and here, at the foot of this mountain,

I stand in confidence

no longer amazed by natures omnipotent hight.

I see the shadows in the wood and feel no curiosity

and when nature sings I feel no desire to listen to its honesty.

I spend years (it seems) in book and introverted realties

which strip me of the purest form of humanity.

Where once I stood on the top of a mountain

and thought of the greatness of self

I now question all forms of lively hood

and fear the swelling waves of future.


As a child I bounded on wings of joy

into the wooden cabin on the mountain

and sang while time floated by

and tea boiled in kettle and I had time to dream.

Now here I stand where I have stood so many times before

and I can’t help feeling nostalgia

and longing for my innocence

where things where easy.

Innocence flies, it really does,

and once the sky has fallen the birds don’t sing.

and questions

why does experience create so many questions?

shouldn’t time resolve?

In the morning I’d awake and speed down to the shore catch

the glimmering fishes twisting in the light and make sculptures

from salty stones.

Now I awake in a cabin I have slept in many times

there is no novelty

and my privileges makes the exceptional ordinary.

I drowsily remove myself from sleep

and sit on the porch with a view of the cove.

I see a view which I have seen many times before

yet the incomprehensible contrast of the world

still strikes

hard

like a bullet through a chest.


In the years that come

I want life to crystalize

to form diamonds

hard, durable, and divine.

so when I sit here

I will have my future

and I will know some answers.

at least some

more than now.

I want the sea of fears to part

and let my spirit free.

I will sit on this wooden porch

weather worn and historied

and I will see through fresh eyes

and again feel the strength from within.

Big hands, Big arms
It makes a criminal out ya
Big hands, Big arms break things
I neva mean it.
I brake flowers
with these Big hands
they don’t know how Big they are.
It’s good if you’ve got a Big house
It’s good if your wifes got a Big rack
It’s good if you’ve got Big money.
But you, man, don’t get big
don’t look criminal man.
Be cool, be slim, be white.