I wonder what type of whiskey
the man painting road lines
at 3am drinks,
am I stereotyping
or am I foreshadowing
my trip to the liquor store
in 10 years?

MJB

does hamburger meat stick together because it is still searching for the ghost of it's bones?
in college, i worked in a factory.
i trudged to work every monday morning at five thirty and put on gloves
to plunge into the sticky mess of beef that i weighed and clipped and submerged in.
the meat sticks together and bleeds into the same palm, which is my own.
i am livestock.
i am a nonsensical sticky mass of fat that is being pulled apart by another.
although i am trying to pull myself back together,
the bones i clung to were yours.

Where will i be when this is over,
Will i be the whistle in the wind,
Or will i be the sound in the waves.

Will i become a supernova,
the scent in flowers recently trimmed?
Or just a carcass only found in graves?

Will i be the story parents will tell their children,
The memories which will make my friends sigh,
Or will i be the hurt in my lovers heart?

Will i be the soul on its way to heaven,
The subject of advice given to passers by,
Or the poetry written in parts?

Maybe i will be the wisdom taught by scholars,
The ray of hope for the oppressed,
Or the image of morality in spirituality;

I could be the mind healing sermons from preachers,
The light in the hearts of the depressed,
Or the restoration of love to humanity;

I hope that my name lives on,
I hope that it'll be said of me,
See all the good he has done;

I hope to be the reason why visionaries run,
I hope that a memorial day be set aside for me,
For my legacies which lives through ages to come.