~


I didn’t see her at first
the frolicy bounding yearlings
                       had my attention~

When I looked back to the south
         I was stricken
               her hunched straining body
                   ears frantically twitching
                        one large black eye
                              fixed  ~

she must have just begun
             her morning ritual
                      as she kept
                                going ~

I have never claimed to be the most
                          mature man
so this spectacle
                 made me laugh
my noise added to her
                         rigidity
which inspired more
                       uproarious laughter ~

duty complete
              she flipped a large
                          white tail
and cast a disgusted glace
back at me
     not once or
               even twice
but three separate looks ~

the third was more than
      I could bare
so I shouted out
across an empty field
to one indignant doe
a heartfelt apology ~

~
Cockroaches track cigarette ash over the table
and across the window sill.
A thin, scabbed, tattooed hand rocks the bassinet
and a sleeping baby is bought in
and out of sunlight distorted by bent mini-blinds.
As she scans open and empty cupboards wondering
how she can still produce milk, an expected knock
comes. Frantic eyes scan for signs of stirring
as she needs her little prince to sleep through the trick.    /

Trump reached the magic number
of
pledged delegates

this morning…..

~





minutes tick away the hours leading to long days and years
and she grows older without a father as witness
no strong hands to help her up or
ever to push her on a merry-go-round
instead they hold my head as I try to push you out   again

a five year old babe on a swing in a park in the sun
moment of memory that I wonder if we share
miniature impersonator of my father and myself
a daughter with sandy highlights plays in my mind’s eye

twice I chose to walk away
and leave you to the world’s device
once as a newborn when ****** ruled my days
and again just after your sixth year


six months until you turn eighteen
a date in the middle of August as important to me
as any moon landing or planned  invasion
when I will give you the chance to decide
if my extended hand could ever fill
the roll of your father  /

~
Tiger grass in the Willamette Valley hides canine anaconda
they slither unseen except for the sifting chaff,
westerly breezes give them total cover until the attack
of tongue and slobber. We sit, half expecting,
a pounce and roll. The scratchy paw against cotton blend
inspires distant tree frogs to croak and seek
mates and pools perfect to harbor new life.
Delicate eggs surrounded by slime fly up and over
heads not paying attention, heads that instantly become open caverns
and howl like banshees at splashing hounds in the moonlight.
Disciplinary tones squelch exuberant activity and
three old men with hanging heads gather around the fire,
unable to make eye-contact or even muster up the courage
to lay upon booted feet of angry masters. Only the occasional whimper
rolls across the valley as even the frogs fear for their safety.  /

lost in thought and
lost in boxes
thin dust coated
stacked haphazard
her life
inside –
I began moving and rearranging the space
attempting to reclaim the study
instead memories flooded and tears fell
as each tote
carried a piece of her –
considering the southern trip
in a rented Caravan
more than a year ago
trying to decide what items
I needed to carry and store
in order to properly protect
and honor her memory –
standing in a poorly lit room
staring at her life
under packaging tape
I found myself attempting to
reorganize my mother –
as I placed boxes into the hallway closet
I found myself thinking about her
parental missteps
which then gave me freedom
to hide her away
I saw the old photographs
smiles belying childhood disappointment
not the bike I wanted
wrong style of shoe
embarrassed of the car
the house
life ……
I slide another box into the crawl space –
angry and confused
by my actions
and emotions
I think about her smile
Southern Californian blond  
six foot one shinning like the sun
in the grey Oregon drizzle
taller, prettier, and better educated
she glowed in the dying mill town
and I,
but her child,
felt lost in the shine –
vacuuming the bunnies
and mentally compiling
the inventory list seems lite
as if I lost important packed items
in the shuffling memories …..
I was instantly struck
by what was missing
from the tattered and faded boxes,
as I reorganized my mother
I had found, again
within myself –

wildly winding mountain road
descending elevation blurs
careening towards freedom
the darkness seems to follow ~
white knuckled and madly steering
screeching wheels struggle to grip
gaskets swell with petroleum pressure
radiator coolant hisses and spits ~

a long exhale on a straight stretch
a droplet of harsh mortality
leaves the temple
and travels its own downhill journey
twisting along the neck
banking on the pectoral incline
picking up speed slaloming belly hair ~

slamming the transmission into first
engine whine echoes
howling moan bounces off canyon walls
as the cramp in my colon reaches
maximum ache
I drop the metaphor and head to the toilet /

I look across
the moss covered snag
laid delicately on the forest floor
creating habitat for micro-cilium
and rodent families.
Momentarily disorientated
by the crashing of dry
and disjointed underbrush,
I peer through the Fir thicket
attempting to find the source.
At first I am both startled and amazed
at the sheer size of what I perceive to be
an angry grizzly mother
a territorial male mountain cougar
a ******* bigfoot!!
To my surprise and terror
I hear the crashing get closer
and catch the wafting scent
of my unknown adversary…
nay, my death provider
and the digester of Sam.
Unfiltered fear sweeps through me
as visions of all the things in my life
left undone, pass before my eyes
holding grandchildren, reading to them
holding my wife’s small fingers at the table
of the assisted living facilities dining room,
stamps…
when at once my fear is realized
and I find myself staring into the malicious
deadly
evil eyes of
a baby fawn still in spot
that my reckless forest tramping
has stirred from its hidden slumber.
I blush and move on.

a debt is owed to those of you
who write so clean and pure and true
inspiring me through and through
washing away shades of grey and blue

t’was as if you’d always knew
the way to build me up anew
like a cobbler designing a shoe
you spoke to me as I changed and grew

i lost to taste for rotten shrew
and threw away memories not of you
until I sat alone, hair askew
wondering what next I would do

then came a flash that skewered me through
I was only able to muster a ‘mew’
as the realization came that this could never undue
the great Ric Flair and his infamous “Woooooo”

the point is, if I can get real here, crew
it’s important to me, the writing you do
this comes from my heart so it has to be true
I hope you all have a day under skies sunny and blue –

a low grumble and a hard thud
as I walk into my abode
old man jimmy rolls on his back
greeting me after my time on the road—

his thick floppy jowls hang free
as he looks up me upside-down
a bit of the tail wagging ensues
and there is no way to maintain my frown –

more guttural vocalizations
followed by pressing all his weight against my legs
looking up into my face
wishing I had something to try and beg—

I give a few sharp pats on his head
and command him to get outta my face
more grumbles as he slowly walks to his station
even an old crotchety lab has the ability to learn his place –

Sterling Jay props an acorn into the crotch of an Elm
Rhythmic drumming follows
Two-thirds the life of a fly passes
Yet the Sterling remains both diligent and determined
From the porch I hear the crack
Followed by the triumphant high-pitched squawk
Sterling Jay has secured a delightful evening meal --

~


Heat mirage on sandy soil
disintegrating cirrus left from the cool night
skittering horn toad flattens to hiss before
leaving the sunbaked earth
for shadowed hollow protections.

Large red-bottomed fire ants
carry back to a simple hole cuttings of magpie
they store foodstuffs for the hard months ahead
while cleaning the land of rotting bodies.

Hollow bones stripped of flesh
begin to bleach and crack
stiff winds pile feldspar and quartz along the western edge
of a bird long free from nest building and chick rearing.

Only a passing coyote gives the magpie body a second thought
before turning west towards dancing foothills.   /

breaking out of a broken home
misery makes for interesting bedfellows
the project blocks shrink in the distance
while he makes his way for parts unknown
     thinkin about being full grown

odd jobs fill the lonely days
and hunger pains give the night hours life
looking out from a tattered box
understanding all his dreams are blown
     wishing he was really full grown

on an oil crew just outside of Gnome
spring in Alaska so nice and mellow
attempting to make a living wage, meeting resistance
feeling like he is all alone
     knowing he is not full grown

on his knees he sits and prays
to grant him happiness, to take a wife
without a key, he picks the locks
like a mighty bird already flown
     he waits and waits to be full grown

through his matted hair he pulls a comb
the tangles cause him to scream and bellow
but he doesn’t give up relaying on his persistence
never realizing he is completely owned
     which is the year he becomes full grown

on the soft grass he stares and lays
looking back on the years of strife
imagining himself free like the Fox
escaping his lips, a defeated moan
     I may not live long enough to be full grown

in a nice wool suit sitting by the phone
looking out at the daffodils blooming yellow
a flash of realization hits him in an instance
all I do is **** and groan
    waiting to be told that I am full grown

peace surrounds him and the feeling stays
rest finds him, granting and end to his life
buried now under clumpy dirt and rocks
he died as he lived without ever getting the bone
    not really knowing he was always full grown

Rollin down the street with lil Pauly trollin all the freaks with their Converse conversing on the Servicemen and the suicide rates waiting at the gates for the slow ride to make the left turn at the community estate, I state, its great liven upper middle in the greenest state eating entitlement cake acting like I am vital and any mistake would break the system we bump fists and switch the disk by remote control stroll down the veranda like a Versace panda rockin an ice banana and a Bernie Sanders bandana living breathing socialism planner listen to the police scanner don't have to smoke bammer like Loc in the slammer up in Alabama fresh pajamas flannel and polyester pics of a jester wrestler molesting a waitress successfully doing the Cosby ya'll be callin me insensitive but I'm representative of a nation that don't give a **** --

**** near enough torque to bust a motor mount
little pig contorted her body
and sneered a smile
soundless barks
mouthed
she wiggled backwards all the way to the couch
turned, took a breath,
and went right back to wiggling –
rescue mutt
lab **** cut and pasted on a bull dog
front end
looking like a 73 Barracuda
***-end way up high…
little spots above her eyes
reddish in the sunlight
show Rottweiler markings
so, at best, she is a three way fat head…
picked her up with the name Gunther,
for a little girl dog…. –
We called her Gunny
but almost instantly
she became a wiggle pig
a gunny pig bear
and the great spazzgunno…
never have I owned a better ****** –

olive drab down-filled vest
shaking every single hand
speaking only of great success

hair never askew or messed
discussing a long-term plan
olive drab down-filled vest

information presented is never guessed
education is the stump he stands
speaking only of great success

the life he leads is truly blessed
though, the new climate is killing his tan
olive drab down-filled vest

never a time for being underdressed
when becoming an Oregon man
speaking only of great success

bringing to our program some Louisiana zest
Oregon seems an interesting place to land
olive drab down-filled vest
speaking only of great success

dirt and dust
encircling a sea
painted ******* and wooden masks
stand out
and instantly fade
as the slow march around the eight
fills the sunny weekend –
fifteen stages from spoken word to belly dancing
dubsteppers mingle with dead heads
and the mushrooms flow
like wine –
It’s been seven years since the hippies
proved to me capitalism is the greatest sin
and yet I find myself drawn back
pulled by familial remembrances
and the overwhelming feeling
of being welcomed home –
This year marks the beginning, again
third times the charm…
of my acquaintanceship and relation too
the Oregon Country Fair
and when I close my eyes
and tell myself the truth,
I am excited and happy
to be going back home. –

stabbing pain fills my abdomen
the sensation of a heavy rock dropping quickly
hits my bowel
sweat forms down the center of my back
and on my upper lip
the Christians have arrived
and I am sickened by the sight –
cross wearing hypocrites line the streets
holding signs of hate
in the name of Jesus
trying to pleasantly force a false belief system
on little children leaving schoolhouses
throwing rocks at **** victims
whose only crime is not wanting to carry a ******* to term
and bashing the lifestyle of homosexuals
like God gives a **** where people put their ***** –
blindly following aged stories written by drunkards
the sheep-like nature is an affront to me
I stand both horrified and in awe
watching people speak of doing unto others
and expressing that only the Lord judges
do they know how full of **** they seem? –
backing slowly away from the scene
I slip quietly back into the shadows
as long as my country holds true to the adage
that church and state are separated
these lunatics cannot control me
well….except the run the country –

Lost in the fluidic movements of Keats
Feeling each line, steady rhythm ‘n beats
Sending my head spinning, beautiful tune
Swooning all love-struck hooked on the spring moon
Glancing gay-fully over hill ‘n yon
Silently anticipating
the breaking of dawn
brought back in a flourish reading aloud
tears well up as I destroy this old shroud
keeping me locked up so tight…life, no air
thinking repeating rhyming couplets
lead only to despair
but here is a romantic from days past
creating lovely pictures that do last
with only his words, ink, quill, and parchment
thoughts, ideas, love, being different,
setting them free on wings of written word
allowed then to soar, spectacular bird
then to perch on tongues of well-spoken men
let loose on the world, set free once again
travelling sounds delighting each sweet ear
giving peace to downtrodden… far, and near
offering some solace to the forlorn  
on the darkest and coldest dreary morns
these sounds which fly so high, brighten the sky
swirl in the mouths of our loves when we die –

pagan traditions
called Christian
dot the marketplace
face to face
with the race to place the best display case
on front street
beating feet I retreat
feeling mistreated
I stop for a treat
both salty and sweet
my need is complete –
fleet of foot,
I stagger not
as I leap the creepy sheep
eyeballs pressed to the glass
fascists passing off as classy
massively underestimating
the passion of the impoverished
wishing the dish next to me liked to kiss
I blissfully whistle into the wind –
laboriously porous
the stories hold no weight
only serving to date me
plated and shelved I delve into other interests
such as the tide pools
old fools and the perfect guitar playing stool
drool pools
your interest wanes
it’s plain to see this has lost direction
yet here we are
together again…
I see you –

open sores ooze discontent
yellowish **** flows down the infected leg
red and hot skin swells and distorts
while thick green pasty rot coats the region
undeterred by the sight, white teeth flash
savage growls penetrate the night
as the pack looks to down the injured stag
gnashing fangs and yips of pleasure pierce the darkness
tearing sinew and ripped fur fly
damaging multiple square feet
I spotlight the affair
knowing tomorrow will be filled with
circling turkey vultures
and the sick smell of fresh death in the field –

I’m a poet…
Not one of these
rhyme selling
alliteration junkies,
nor a stanza *****, and what’s more
I think sonnets and Haiku a bore
I snore
at the doorway to beat poet’s hipster-ism
giggling internally at the vast breadth
of useless love prose.
I stand examining the sunrise for meaning
seeking the symbolism left in the echo of crunching dead leaves…
mine is not the path for the faint of heart
as I attack with words
every social norm I come across
every cultural drag
and each individual act of stupidity
so as to become the voice of a nation
unheard, unknown,
but existing, none the less –
I am a poet.

sitting in the dampness
like an extra coat of high gloss
the leftover remnants
of heat dissipation, remain
catching the rising sunlight
and sending refracted prisms
to capture my eyes
and send my imagination soaring
wings of marshmallow fluff
send me gliding
above an alien landscape
of my own creation
neon pyramids
flash by in a torrential
my pulse matches the current
and the acceleration becomes exponential
blurred images careen
mish-mash of memories
and future dreams
collision of past guilt
and joy explosions
fireworks on a new year’s celebration
elation follows
and the trickling dew
slides down the metal plow
its motion bringing me back
leaving me safely,
once again,
in my quiet yard --

used to try writing raps
my version of stealing from blacks
near had a heart-attack over the fact
aint nothing worse than a white assed mac
back to the roots with my poetic muse
but I refuse to lose the blues
or act like they aren’t my bad news
see, I too have worn out shoes
solidarity and commonality through being poor
letters to Santa scratched into the cold dirt floor
always living hungry, afraid to ask for more
only thing ever offered freely was access to the front door
you know..  “complaining ***, get the **** out”
leaving very little room for anyone to doubt
there was nothing of my station granting me any version of clout
and fingerprints across my face were the answer to a pout
now I just stick with poetry, was never really a thief
well except that little piece of coral from the Hawaiian reef
or my trip to Jamaica when I ripped off that spleef
or the time after all that trimming I had 11 pounds of keef
those are all lies I have barely been off the west coast
I wanted you to be impressed so I had to try and boast
like that was the only way you would think I was ‘the most’
guess I will go do my Elwood impression and have some plain white toast

icy winter on the afternoon breeze
gives pause so the sun can lie
and encourage children out of doors
only to kick up vengefully
chapping lips and watering eyes
while simultaneously giving cheeks
a rosy glow –
frosted lawn greets the day
altered dew rests glisteningly
subdued bird song breaks the silence
and my own breathe distorts the image
exhaling clouds
liquid vapors instantly freeze
and fall to the cold ground below –
slapping mitted hands together
and piling up six pieces of fir and elm
I return to the safely of my enclave
arrange the sticks in a 1956 potbelly
and light the match
which will combat
the change in seasons –

washed-up has-been
rummaging through yesteryears
moth-balled memorabilia
catches a momentary reflection
in a cracked and stained mirror –
wrinkled cheekbones and saggy jowls
encircle puffy eyes,
red from lack of peaceful sleep
chapped lips
and hanging skin particles
look back, sadly –
beyond the mirror
and the defeated image
the sun shines
on an open lot
filled with boys and bats
all dreaming of a time
in which they can be famous. –

broken bottles and battered buildings
hide tormented parents
and their heathen children
backlash flash bang tear gas flies
Amerikkka holds its breath
as the Midwest burns down –
naked in the van Mr. Grey lays lifeless
lingering thoughts of drunken debauchery
surround the station
when all at once crowds gather
riled and red-faced
ready to revolt
against revolting police practices and procedure –
A nation of ADD suffers turns on the news
make-up clad news father figures sit behind desks
costing more than those the impoverished they report on
cut-scene and a black screen have new meaning
as the green party can only wait
for this to pass
as all things do --

I heard him say my name
just as clear as these words you read
concise and with force
as if I were a child again
on the precipice of mortal danger
as if at any moment
I could very well cease to be
or perhaps
fall so far as to have never existed –
the tar melted
smelling of old lemon acidity
pooling in the low center
of a blackened tablespoon
70 brownish cc’s
sat, still warm in the syringe
I pictured his face
and took the plunge –
I heard him say my name
but he had been dead five years
my father called to me
and then left me to consider
the meaning
what does it mean
when  ghost calls your name….
was I supposed to stop….
was I supposed to act…
I shot the drugs
into my left armpit
and pushed the job offer away
I shot the drugs
into my left armpit
and let his voice carry me to sleep
I shot the drugs
into my left armpit
and threw another five
years into the addiction soup
giving it just enough temper
and spice
to block the sounds –
I often think back
to a double-wide trailer
just at the edge of Hubbard
and the night my father called my name
while I stooped
in a ****** slumber
considering what was to become of me –

A black speckled brown thrush
warbles while sitting atop an old decrepit greying wooden fence post
off, in the distance, stands (barely)
a barn that ceased to be functional at the turn of the prior century.
Faded wood, splintering, shows exposed nail heads
rusty and oxidized… perfect to pull at a wayward summer dress
or perhaps catch and tear the skin
of the playing child lost in imagination.
Brambles climb and creep up dilapidated walls
giving the illusion that this manmade object
sprung forth from the berry bushes
as if it were mutated fruit or maybe an exposed root system.
The low constant buzz of mud wasps
diligently building nests in eves
drowns out the sounds of jets flying overhead,
the occasional tick lights gently upon untreated skin
and desperately begins clawing its way
to a hairy spot in a darkened area.
Underneath misshapen cuts of plywood
three coiled garden racers sit in the cool
waiting with infinite patience
for the tiny shrew or mouse youth
to make a mad dash
meal time comes irregular on warm May afternoons.

~


I see his face in the smoke
      though he has only gone fourteen days
I feel the weight of absenteeism

It is only proper for a twenty year old man
              to leave the nest
strike out on his own and find his way in the world

                  it is only normal for me to suffer this loss
                      for I not only have lost a son
                               but a friend

but loss to too harsh
      four hours travel time is not eternity
                     it is distance
                         and that space holds weight

this is a positive story
      of evolution and growth
natural order and regular happenings
I can’t help
feeling sad
            
               I might be wanted and loved
                    but I am no longer needed  /

alleyway stagnation
rivulets of ammonia wander
inhibition slides
out of sight
and shoeless travelers
defecate on pizza boxes ~

worn thin soles
mold to each pebble
reflexology of the pavement
chakras explode with
symbolic frippery
leaving tendrils of aura
slipping into the pastel sunset ~

both hands hold carbon
crumbling and geo-engineered
star souls wait in silence
egg fertilization
key to reforming
birthed again
without fission ~

swaddled universe
howling siren
ships crash on basalt spies
crimson waves alter tourist sands /

inserting the curved blade
right next to the *******
of a downed doe
he made a smooth and easy slit
right to the base of the chest plate
the entire gut pile slid near into his lap /

surely my skin matched the grey eyes of death
as I watched him snip
a long green ******
from a steaming red liver…
the heart was next pulled and gently placed
into a hat holding a giant liver
his eyes twinkled with pride
as he looked up at me /

my first **** was a good one
317 yards
set the crosshairs
right at the backbone
bottom edge of the neck
223 bullet hit the front shoulder
and rolled into the armpit
sent bone fragments shooting
through the lungs and heart…..
I was a murderer /

the hollow carcass matched my heart
as I shouldered the load
and trudged back the 1.2 miles to camp
only stopping twice to re-adjust my doom
the smell of blood
the weight of killing
and a fat alfalfa fed doe
led me to a difficult conclusion /

at 15 I had spent 8 years tagging along to ever trap line
each fishing trip not during class hours
multiple poaching’s
and now my first legitimate ****, solo…
my head spun /

wrapping the body in a mesh bag
and hanging it in a Juniper
I looked up at my shame
and over into my father’s eyes…

it was the last time I killed…
outside of the occasional mosquito
or spider … /

~




Mars flashed like a plane coming in
brightness and rotation of color
reminded me of stock footage
nuclear tests on an atoll
      reds and oranges play in blue hues

wisps of black cloud impeded my view
and I thought about young men in trenches
love and comradery I would never know
Mars peaked back into view
      I considered Russian and Chinese prophecy

my own heartbeat became a marching army
covering the land in mist and smoke
thunderous explosions disjointing doorframes
whimpering children under dusty grey rubble
       loudspeakers reassuring danger has passed

golden curtains  move with the wind fire creates
a scorched lawn with a twisted fence
Pennsylvania Avenue potholed and transient
beyond that the ghettos smolder  
a nation bleeds life back into poisoned soil
       a lone perched eagle surveys before soaring into the dawn    /

On the counter sat a faded black and white photograph
a young woman’s face smiled bright with hope for the future
a future that included me and my brother, a husband,
and one lover only she really liked.
A cough caught my attention and I looked at her wrinkled face
it had been days since any eye contact
since food had passed those dry, cracked, and peeling lips,
instead a small pink swab attached to a plastic white stick
brought dabs of moisture to a shriveling tongue.
Candles burned around her high school graduation picture
dark wisps of ashy smoke braided itself and disappeared
I took a cold unresponsive hand in my own
and thought about how many more times I would be able to touch her.
Each room in the facility held the same story
though none of us spoke to each other during those days
aside from an overly friendly care giver trying to delicately
flop a body around to change sheets or clean soiled sundries.
Mom’s breath stopped…
just at the moment when fear of being an orphan
had locked my chest in God’s own vice grip
she exhaled.
I laid my head against a cold steel bar
there to protect her from falling out of bed, but also
to  keep me from crawling in and wrapping my arms around her body
in an effort to keep her warm.  /

metallic morning mouth
like the aliens were seeing
how much metal
this big ole mouth could hold
then taking selfies
#bigmetalmouth
on Pleadian Instagram
smiling Grey’s
giant black eyes
shinning into the Iphone –
when I awoke
my hat was too small
and my denture too big
because they don’t always
put me back right….
or they leave a clone Sam
to mindlessly fill in
just a couple days….
(Which is why I can’t post poetry all the time)
you know,
while my actual body
is paraded
placed in a zoo
and spectated at…
like we do with lesser creatures –
I wonder what they feed me
or, if I maintain stasis
perhaps if I were more diligent
about my caloric intake
I could monitor these trips
based off variations
in blood sugar
and cholesterol levels
video proof
of being force fed
sushi through a tube
pureed rice and fish….
One morning
i woke to refracted light
dancing across my walls and ceiling
with a strip in the sky
to match the rainbow
I sat alone
as a young lad of maybe five
wondering if this was always
going to be a part of my life……
short answer,
yes –

slight wisps of frankincense
    traveled to the ceiling
looped and swirled
     before attempting to dissipate ~

within the smoke’s
                                 last throws
     his ghost
                arose
and our eyes met ~

locked in a spacial gaze
my emotion could not contain
      tears fell as my body
                       shook
fear overtook me as
etheric lips parted ~

a voice formed
           deep inside my skull
                 slow and steady
                    guttural mumbling
began to take shape
                    form words ~

a message of perfection
was imprinted on my mind
     complete with feelings
         surrounding order and place
I was exactly where I was
                 supposed to be
doing the very thing
       I was born to do~

inhale    exhale        blink
spongey texture filled the void
    off white and shabby
laughter found sound
and a smile beamed forth
          the ceiling
                    was perfect   /

spotlight on the injustice
nationwide racial profiling
reliving civic unrests and marches leading to nowhere
the broken back of the black American shines white in the desert sun
and all of our blood is red when exposed to air –
feeling helpless and slightly lethargic
I shield my eyes from reality
looking instead at the unicorn and fairy forest of humanities youth
when magic ruled
and not on a card table –
faithless monuments dot the horizon
symbolizing a people’s fall from grace
and the loss of ethic and morality –
my hands vibrate with anger
as I am helpless to fight
against the enemy that is my skin
and a war that is based in my country –

Her eyes fill with tears
as we leave the costal campground.
Soundlessly, she sobs…
not for sadness,
but the remembrance of times past.
I cast loving eyes in her direction
keeping the wheel straight as we
careen down Oregon’s beautiful highway 101.
Years flash before my mind’s eye…
Images of present wrappers strewn about
and,
family meals with extra trimmings
and,
placing grandma Sue under her favorite tree
to spend eternity.
Too much time has passed.
I gently stroke her thigh and express my love,
she turns and looks deep into me,
knowing I understand that it is not pain,
but the love of our children
and the times we will never have back
that gives redness and puffy eyes cause to be.
Quiet miles pass…
The green rolling hills break off onto sandy beaches;
white tipped waves crash giving the dampened granules
a darker tone
matching the interior of the grey Saturn Vue.

jumping to stump speechify
my eyes cast upon a darkened horizon
locusts and tsunami
sahara dust storm 1000 miles wide
stretching into the stratosphere
engorged on the land laid out before
fattened and grotesque
the words spew forth
slime coated and green
sickeningly sweet to inferior ears
tales of bigotry and fascism
are spread on the common core classrooms
like molasses
giving everything a hue of diarrhea
**** water paint job
gleaming teeth of innocent school babes
tainted by the lies
and unrealized potential
a nation sits in its **** and waits
for anyone to extend a hand –

circular ideas
of a great hoop of humanity
no beginning
no end
an eternal thread
containing everything
endlessly encompassing
all –
seeking answers from the four directions
asking the east for understanding
the west for compassion
looking to the north for consideration
and south for peace
feeling the earth between my toes
and surrounded by the atmosphere
I become part of the
all –
media hype and monetary squabbles
dissipate
as new visions distort reality
finding myself encased in love
and hopeful for a future
the cynic within my recoils
simultaneously, a long lost
child
steps into the spotlight
fresh and new
giving me permission to let go
and fall into the
all –
New dawn breaks on old habits
trying to bury myself in social media
and negative propaganda
I can no longer relate
I find myself unable to care
….harmony bubbles within
and I can’t help but smile
at my perception
of the
all –

as a white American
few words hold power
the strength to stop traffic
the ability to curb enthusiasm
the worth to end conversation
‘****’ is such a word –
to write ‘****’ barely
invokes an emotional response
just four little letters on a page
written in such a way as to possess
meaning
through the organization of
consonants and vowels
creating a linguistic circus
which we can all enjoy…
**** –
merely slang for a feminine body part
or saved for those who infuriate us
nearly beyond measure
we throw it around, but not haphazardly
like those silly British:
tossing bleeding ***** for fun and frolic
while ******* a ***…
ah, the majesty of vernacular
**** –
she acted in such a way;
he made me so mad;
that dog **** on the floor;
come here honey, let me lick it
stick it
and slap it once for old time’s sake
**** …
more magic than Siegfried and Roy
especially when offered to a young boy
as a shiny new toy …
****
who knew it could bring forth both
such pain and such overwhelming joy
**** –

stubbly cheek and chin run along
a smooth creamy leg
the faint sent of pre-*** wafts
as a slight moan escapes her lips
the back of a rugged hand brushes away
fallen hairs
laying haphazard across a face
engrossed in ecstasy
gently rubbing the nub behind decorated *******
drawing forth inadvertent twists
and a few giggles and excited noises
teeth grip and tug at elastic
exposing a trimmed and curly
treasure trove
I dive with abandon
enjoying a meal
saved just for me –