I will never taste
that exquisite flavor.
You are immersed
in language,
while I admire,
from my balcony,
your collocations,
your state of being,
expressed with juicy metaphors
that will never be mine,
even though I long for them.

I build bridges in the wind
strange in form.
I can offer nothing that
my sincerity and passion,
torn rather than beautifully woven.

Thank you for stopping by
reading them with wonder.
Please think warmly of me
if I fail to ignite your intellect.
I came to experience
I am a freed soul,
finding words in a foreign tongue.
I reconstruct myself
between the lines.

My neighbour's hand is on my porch.
The porch that's on my neighbour's land.

My seat is in my planet's sun,
its fun, to play out in the heat.

This summer home upon the roof
the proof you need not be alone.

The garden's through my landlord's study.
My landlord, who's my buddy's buddy.

I've got the time to call and chat
but that I need not do, in fact.

I live five paces from my friends
no calls nor sends, I see their faces.

Our little city, above the street,
up thirty feet the world is pretty.

I do not crave the land below
I'm high up on my magic meadow.

I don’t think justice is sweet-
not real justice anyway.

It’s not like a birthday cake,
baked with love, shared with joy.

I think revenge is sold to us as sweet-
the beautiful, perfectly decorated cake we bought from the shop’s window
But one bite in and you realize:
There is no sweetness only salt
And curdled milk

I think justice is communal
For the greater good

For true justice
we must change the way we think.
Not just for me, but for we
For the whole community

So how can justice be people locked in cages
Making slave wages
How is that good for community.
Parents ripped from their children
Mothers’ children stolen
locked away

Not learning how to do better
Be better
Stripped of the lessons from the mother
Taught they are less than human
Treated like zoo animals
Rounded up like rats
Unearthing the secrets of what curdles the milk

How can justice be sweet when this is the reality
Selling out my fellow humans for my right to
THE AMERICAN DREAM
But is it really a dream worth dreaming-
If it’s just for me and not for we

If this is justice
why is it so hard to sleep.
The spoiled cake sold in the bakery window
We’ve already taken more than a couple bite
Will we spit it out?
Or will we binge until we reek-
of salt and curdled milk?

Down the river, I sink

Bleeding my tears

Mingling with the stream

Seeking a fountain

Of another world

I scream

I cry

I am deflated

I am exhausted


Curled up in fibers

Soft carpet, lining

Edges of a hallway

You come closer and beckon

Solidary merged

Into cement walls

We linger

We dream in a sense

Comforted by one another

you struck a match and left me putting out the fire alone.
as always, dreams turn to dust, and i'm the one to bite the lust.
maybe one day, i'll get used to it.  
is it something i should get used to?

what could be harder
getting up before the dawn
beating a lone path

climbing into your cold cab

what could be cooler
sitting high above the snow
clearing a shared path