Why can’t we do this
Why am I not allowed to love
Why would I never get your kiss
Why would you never love?

Come on now, they love you they say
Put you in your social place only to stay
Stay there until you find him there
A person that knows and will care

But
Why can’t I fall in love with another
How is me, blushing, such a bother
What obliges me to not want a touch
Or a kiss or a caress or such?

Stop it, they tell me
This is not how it’s meant to be
You know your status and how you look
You know he picks up girls rather than a book

But
Here I stand, my own team
Trying to fight for love
Trying to fulfill my dream.

Today we have the labeling of people groups.
Yesterday we had the suggestion of an inherent disposition to dishonesty and violence in some groups.
Tomorrow we will have the careful counting of individuals and the placing of individuals into each people group.
But today,
today we have the labeling of people groups.

For those of you who are new here, we recommend this period drama underlining racial differences with a subtle suggestion of inferior intellect in some groups indigenous to warmer climes.
And here we have a persuasive and tabloid friendly research paper that hints that children of mixed race tend to struggle in school. You'll be relieved to see that it hasn't any distracting data.
And on the shelf beneath you'll see there's a picture book version for younger children.

Over here is the arbitary divide between us and them, with a useful circle of arguments to differentiate ourselves from others.
Here we have colour coded lables to more easily distinguish between  people groups. Yes, that's correct, we have three labels: white, black and, a recent addition which is now available for added distinction, rainbow.
Oh yes, when engaging in any discussions, for your own safety please ensure you wear these ear defenders.
To ensure a free flow of visitors we have erected large signs in three languages marking where charity at home ends. Yes, after rigorous focus group testing we have selected the English language in three font sizes.

We are coming to the end of this orientation tour.  Please note the subtle but effective shedding of compassion for those who appear or sound different to us.  This underpins the necessary disregard for the rights of others that we assume for ourselves and for those like us. It is almost imperceptible I think you'll agree.

But the priority for today, as I say, is the labeling of people groups. 
No questions.
Shall we begin?

Belittled by the labels i was trapped in the four walls of my own mind

eyes that drink it in,
eyes that glaze, eyes tempted sin,
walk, drive, hear or see,

        scent or feel,
what has this to do with me,
is it all the outside objects of desire for poetry,
is it for a friend,
is it at the end of the day, in a wild free-
verse way, is this a dress rehearsal for after-play,

in love,
of love, gone astray
of self-image, renovation reconstruction,
but you can no longer see the dysfunction,
but,
but;
the broken exploded pieces of your heart,
are lodged in every nerve, you can only writhe
to your pain.  

you have meter, you have mitre, cut the rhythm so
close to perfection, a pentameter of frustration, first
name, iambic.

Will you be content,
with the content,
language sounds
hard and rounds,
soft supple syl-
lables slipping silently,
off your tongue,

the strongest muscle,
a double edged, an implement,
sword for word play too.

Poetry is special, as those who strive
to write it,
they may be life lessons shared
to right their ship,
poetry may be long,
it may be short,
you may
write in
privacy,
and no one will
ever read your poetry,
but if they do, you may know, that their
life has changed, and they may never thank you.

And as I often do and this is not an insult but
sometimes true, though I write poetry from
that awful place of woe in me, I seldom
see myself a poet. But my Muse I believe
and it tells me that I am.

The summer you came along I found myself running red lights and passing stop signs. I lived like I was on fire and you were the one who kept those flames ignited. I disregarded the caution signs that stood in front of you for miles when I was making my way towards you and now I can only wish that I had paid more attention to the warning lables. The winter that you left, I washed away my flames with tears that settled beneath my eyes and as those tears mixed with each sleepless night the ash piles grew bigger and I wondered how much I could hold. Those days, I lived furiously but more importantly I lived with you by my side. That summer you came along you left your marks on me like foofootprints in wet cement. I knew that those marks could never be undone so I convinced myself that you had to stay so maybe that's why the winter that you left I didn't drive when the light turned green and I didn't pass the stop sign even after I was sure there were no cars passing through. I hoped that I could fill your void so I cast my shadow so wide that almost everyone seemed to fit under my wing. When I realized that I could only find your eyes in every pair I looked into, I had to move away from my shadow. That summer you came around I found what it meant to be the worst version of myself and the winter you left I found what it meant to not remember what I ever was before I fell in love with you.

You think, you speak... you wander, you crave... you search for meaning you search for love. You say you love and hate and maple syrup lables follow the species to the grave... you ask forgiveness you ask for respect you find the ones you know the best. Its all so sad its all so real, its all an illusion cast from the reeling.. ask youself now, why is the atomic nature of thought without any origin we can dictate, why do we think others have an answer... its the absurd nature kicking the tires of our ball spinning in oblivion... ask yourself...

The merged generations, emerge from first
cold night in the mountains,
announcing,
This is screen-free Sunday.
I say this is the first day of ever after.
I read a bit
-- Infinite Jest, just a stream that contributes,
from time
to time, finity to finity, a dead man's former
mind fitted into words,
emanating from
the audible version of the words processed
in the Nineties, flowing through the
post I-Mac realm of words to the wise
and otherwise,

flooding the lexagraphic learners of grammar
for sense in silence,
self-reading silently,
breathing commas,
allow our pauses to perpetuate se per
selah… say

la la la
as time flows by, like a wild river in the spring,

Infinite Jest, there is a thread
through environs unimaginable to me,
until the inventions were given as inspirations,

did you know, I heard,
Steve Jobs yoosta
stand in the comode,
and flush it, gnoshit. In a state
like meditation,

zoned out of bounds in mere mistaken chance,
ping ping ping

a good idea, a bell of a thought.

We think in words, not all minds do.

Plenty punishments puns provideo please
if -ish is sortalike… shitilised, four syl-lables
la la la
ra ra ra, boom

sort on those, and mix up the story,
in the bubble you be reading in,

give us a universe, fit into the final bubble,
beyond imagining minds,
this world of words.

Here is where we word wise do as we heard,
when we read what the prophets say,
the angels said… re-
conciliation - nation to nation, peace
on earth {as in heaven BTW}
goodwill… the real deal, to fill the flaw, in the law,
which allowed imaginary places power
in carnal minds.

Jesus fixed that. Jah, no joke, he took it,
the joke on me, I traded for the
joke on you, he said,
I heard.