crows near barn    faded red    white stripe panes
scitter scatter    peck at grass
crunch leaves
coated floor    scavenging seeds
overhead like gold/red skyscrapers
angular    tall
declension
touches down
free fall
folks claim it's passed us by
it jostles senses
ramshackle deck    weak 'n worn    flimsy 'n haphazard
wobbly    uncertain    ***** on railing
fall into hands
dismantling of childhood
once was    no longer is
whistles blow crunchers onto old meeting place
furry Beanie Baby zips across pole

We are all grains of sand
Grains of sand in a vast dry land

Vast dry land scorched by the sun
Until we all come undone

Undone in heat and primal flame
Starting back from whence we came

Came we did from a distant fire
An ember of celestial attire

Attire birthed from a sound
The sound of OM where all is found

Found inside a mystical syllable
Everything and nothing willable tillable

Rarely do I ever get a moment to myself
Everything that I plan sits dusty on the shelf
Staring at me silently each and every day
Poignantly reminding me how much I need to play
One day maybe up ahead in a year or two
Nothing will take precedence over what I'd like to do
So instead I fill my time wearing different masks
Intently doing all the things that the family asks
Bodyguard, Janitor, Chef, Taxi, and Teacher
Indeed are just a very few of my lovely features
Leisure however seems to always elude me
Inconsequential to how ardently I plea
Tomorrow is a whole new day to try it all again
Yearning for those moments I can find my zen

Maybe he was staring at my back,
I didn't wish to know for sure,
I couldn't wait to get in the car and go.
The heat the same.
The streets empty
Like my heart,
Calmer this way.
(Silence)

A festival,
Men and kids in long shirts,
Black and white,
Their smiles defind the excitement
I fail to feel these days.
Children ran in the cafe
And at the gate.
(Rough edges)

On our way,
A scene in the passing only,
So forgive me I can' t say
What happens in the end,
But then again would it matter,
I failed,
And now, so will you.
(Questions.)

A cluster of motorised Rickshaws,
A white sedan with one man
Inside.
A small crowd,
Nothing unusual.
-An observation of a grown mind.
One relatively huge man,
Huge of muscles,
Probably in his late twenties
Or early thirties,
Stood holding the door,
The man in the white car
With his hand on the wheel,
Their faces a scrunched up paper,
A raging frown,
Up too close I would have ran,
From far,
I could almost feel both of their
Heartbeats.
I could read the story of the man in white
Matching his car,
I was worried
How could he possibly describe
His ***** face, blue eyes
To his daughter too grown
To be fooled with a lie
Of fighting dragons.
Or to his son, whose mirror
Would now own a scar.
How do we a grow up,
With all the mess of knowing
A little too much?
His left hand holding his phone,
The muscled man was pulling him out now.
(Was there red?)


( I am sorry).

There's a sign there
A stick person in a wheel chair
And i know its intent
And whoever made it
Is currently paying their rent
But
A sign can only say so much.

A sign wont capture the staring
The misguided attentions from people in a state of caring
The glaring into the sun
Kids wondering "what have they become?"

Human curiosity is a wonderful thing
But that doesn't lessen the impact
Of ignorance's sting.

golden nails painted
dirt borders ingrained
pounded into crevices
impenetrable
derelict
He knows what's up
rolling backwards
wheelchair throne
Evading stare
phlegm cackle
Hey man that's the ****
Don't lower your eyes to me
I'm so close to that
Being you
One slip away
I want to be that
majestic

People say you can tell a lot about a woman's style by what her nails look like.
For my mother, acrylics with baby pink sparkly french-tips.
For the blonde sitting at the nail dryer, coral.
Something about the color
looks strange with her new engagement ring.
She talks about how the second time she hung out with her fiancé
she asked him to paint her nails.
Her mother, who she insists she'll pay for, gets french tips.
They look new and fresh in contrast to her tarnished wedding ring.
The little girl with skinned knees and bug bites sitting in the chair across from me asks for blue polish on her toe nails.
Her mother tells her she should get pink.

2.
The act of women getting their nails done reminds me of warriors being armed for a fight.
long acrylics,
pointed,
rounded,
squared,
all fit for different types of battle.
Pointed for the woman who has to walk home alone at night,
rounded for the woman in the workplace who must work harder than her male co-workers,
and square for the woman at home raising her kids to know that strength and kindness
are the same thing.


3.
The women who work here speak better English than most high school students.
And their accents tell stories that I will never know.
An older woman speaks loudly and slowly,
she treats them as if they do not understand.
She will not speak to anyone but the owner; she wants him to translate what she wants to the salon workers.
What she doesn't realize is
that she is the only person here who doesn't understand.

4.
The little girl's doll is named Tessa.
She tells me that she likes my hair and shoes,
even though she has been told not to talk to strangers
twice in the last hour she has been here.
She asked her mother for change,
we all assume it's for the gumball machine in the corner.
She puts all of it in the charity jar.
I hope this girl never changes.

5. Having bare nails in a nail salon
feels the same as being naked in public.

6.
I feel terrible for laughing at the women trying to walk in those little salon flip-flops.
Some look like ducks,
others look like trained Barbies;
marching
newly polished,
ready for the world to chip away their coating
over,
and over,
and over again.