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Seazy Inkwell Nov 10
Again, the face that passes me

With the same care-worn fatigue

His lips are pursed, dark burgundy

His hair flaming maize, his eyes whatever that’s left of the sky

Again, the clock strikes dawn as the stars cleared

He and I, we work hard, for a promotion

I see sparrows playing hopscotch on the electric wires

Summer steals his memory

woods burns out putrid whiteness in his trodden path

He and I, we cut sleep, drink cheap coffee

I see sparrows die skewered, their heads smashed in by the bleached windows

The sun catches them, clip their wings

He and I, sweating like machines in our cubicles

When he comes back to me, his hair singed with crude oil, the clouds are silent

I can’t hear him through the lisp of my nightmare

Hands, hands that typed on keyboards, that tied ropes, that sorted papers, that handled raw meat

Fingers, uncut nails, leaves that sap veins dry in my arms

He, the Icarus I picture outside my office window

I, follow after Dante, as the week descends down to Monday
Seazy Inkwell Oct 17
So it ends. Life

After I heard your Good News. I said —
I had to step out.
My chest heaves.

Left everything inside.
Passport. ID. Savings.

I said: Wait, I will be back soon.

Eyes said. You broke my heart.
Everything is yours.
Do with them whatever you please.

You don’t get it. You smiled.
I can’t wait for tomorrow. You said.
I said: Sure tomorrow.

Do you not see the cracks in my smile.
The fissures of where it’s broken.
Inside my wrinkles of two decades chasing, now lost.

Step out into the cutting air
Step in out of breath in my car in a weather so fair
Tears slithering past sniveling grovel ground
I use everything I own
to buy a ticket for Elsewhere

I lived like nothing. Eating scraps.
Days clone into nights.
I dreamt of nothing.
Bug bites and frosts rise.

A good news it is.
So it goes, I left
Haven’t turned back for twenty years.

You come back to me in dashes
Fractured sun streams
Gregorian chants
I say.

I said.
Seazy Inkwell Jun 22
America, land of the free
Is it wild sarcasm or exclusive pedigree?
Things are getting better
Certainly it is for you
But what about your neighbors
Things will get better
Said street walkers collect loot and spoils
All you ever want is money, designer bags
As bystanders gazed in cold blood
What is eternal is never owned

My years as an outsider has shown me:
To love even if it is unrequited
To question incessantly
To see the humans inside the systems
To never take Truth for granted
What makes America great?
I’m saying it not to flatter or frame
Why did so many immigrants rush in?

It‘s not what the ‘has been’, the ‘is’ that matter
It’s the ‘can be’, the ´will be’, the ‘shall be’
The Dream, the Pride, the Fearless
The organizers, activists, writers, artists
Grassroots, gathered for a common good
The pearls of blaze unstrung from the Statue’s torched hand
East to West, ideas spun and in good faith, left human wills to run
As long as you chase down the horizon, track down the rails of Apollonian glory
There in Liberty you shall be found
Seazy Inkwell Jun 19
Since that day, I’ve been silent
sounds have died between my dented teeth
memories churned in gratifying thoughts
disgrace roared in the corridors of my ears
from that day forward, every lie and curse you hurled back
I am as quiet as the epilogue of time
abiding my narratives, my past beliefs
Waiting my turn, sharpening my words
I'm back
Seazy Inkwell Jun 2019
Listening to your music makes me very bored

So I headed downtown for the things I can’t afford

I walked into the crowded lake till my feet got sored

If the traffic questioned me I’d say I was lured

For a glass of ice and an old album I stored

It made four. I listened till the choir singers broke their last vocal chord.

For years they trademarked desire, eventually it topped the Billboard

the train got jammed midway, again this team had scored

I didn’t say anything; I even signed the peace accord

All the piano keys marched out my door, saying ‘cursed was my Lord!’

I couldn’t sing well, but I walked behind them with a sword

Only my guitar slept soundly; at midnight it even snored
Seazy Inkwell May 2019
You simply looked at her,
how the lights play upon her color
Her hair, color of fresh rye,
Her eyes, doppelgängers of morning sky
Her skin, pristine and pure.

It was all there, written upon their enchanted eyes
It was all here, echoed in your doubtful heart
Upon that stage, carpeted in red
A voice sang and between glances you realized

Those heels of diamonds won't fit you
This dress of this shade of aqua
Is made for her, will match with her eyes
This necklace, segments of diamonds
Is designed for her, will match her spotless skin
These applause, smelling of suburbs
Is waiting for her, will see their daughters in her

You didn't look deep enough,
your thoughts sunk along with the rest of you
your darker complexion, shorter figure, narrower eyes
If you have a daughter you will tell her
she is not made for this, the world is not hers.

So when they ask whence
they should point the spotlights to
When her eyes meeting yours,
smiling, always smiling.

'I think you should go', you said
the better choice, better voice,
walk perfectly upon stages
created by people like you.
Even her pictures will look nicer

But I saw you far off and I knew,
she is no longer a person but an idol for you
she is everything you wish you could be
she fits exactly in the corset of your insecurity

Because you are the one
writing the script, moving the chairs
working late nights, shifting the gears,
cooking the food, perfecting her looks

until every second of her is yours
until your beauty drains into hers
i sometimes wonder why people would think other racial features are more appealing... but again these cosmetics/clothes look better for these looks... but who made them? Who continues to make them?
Seazy Inkwell Apr 2019
Melodious, luminous

a small plumage of sounds

Found you, fond of you

The first string laid across the back of Spring, you sing

till my eyes grow rusted and my limbs frost with moss, 

you perch still upon the branches of my broken fingers,

missing not a beat, a note, a loss.

*

Sing for this sunken world continuously,

my one and only
soloist
Max Richter - Vivaldi - The Four Seasons, 1. Spring
https://youtu.be/DLDvbnK_Sqk
Today I learned I alone I'm responsible for my emotions, the only one who cannot let go.
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