You say that this country needs to change
That it needs to be reformed
That it needs to be equal
But how do we alter a tree who has been watered with the sweat of our mistreated laborers?
Who grows stronger through the abuse of black Americans
How do we alter a tree who’s racist roots are already thousands of years deep?

If I helped you cut this tree down
Where would his roots go?
Where would we place his corpse?
Would he lie alongside the millions who unjustly died for him?
Or would he be buried higher than his creators
Higher than those who helped him grow and nourished his sick leaves, though his fruits never dropped for them

Isn’t it ironic that those who helped the tree grow don’t receive the fruits of their labors?
The fruits ripen, with the sweat and blood of those who grew the tree
The fruits darken, dripping under the sunlight as his creators did
Yet the fruits still drop at the feet of those most porcelain,
Those who were born to enjoy the tree’s abundance

Poems on a Mirror

~for Glenn Currier~

you don’t know me
I don’t know you;
poems on a mirror I ken
truly well

poems on the mirror saved, and then,
comme the seasoning of leave-falling,
poems dropping and drained...the post-it glue loosened by
the daily heat of watery tears,
making a space for
this one, for you...

there are poems and they arrive with fresh arrogance,
each an arrow demanding your all as a target regardless  
of what the shooter really thinks or wants, other than
obedient acknowledgment and their self-loving flattery

but some render where no rendering should be allowed

those are the ones affixed - ones you chose to join the chosen,
slapped onto mirrors - so many that they almost
cover complete your image from presentation

almost only because these poems are yours, you,
they’re the truly accurate reflection even if not your words,
indeed especially because they’re not yours

but they start your day as a poem should
and in doing so,
become you

What a Hall of Fame, to be a poem on Glenn’s Hall of Mirrors

go pick the plums...

When the bottle
Opens
I write my emptiest emotions

It's not the end of the world.
It's not even the end of the day.
Just because the sky is gray
Doesn't mean the sun can't come out
As if to say "it's okay."
Remember. We see the world in color.
If you don't like the ones you see,
Just close your eyes and breathe.
Please don't give up, and I promise you'll see it's not the end.

Put out your hand for me to hold
Start a fire to keep me from the cold
Keep me in your thoughts as my mind goes blank
Wipe my eyes as my vision gets blurry
Hold me tighter as I begin to lose myself
Drugged on this illusion of a perfect life
Remember me when I start forgetting who I am
Please

My gaze does not land on your figure
Unwittingly or by chance
It is drawn in, inexplicably
By your arresting presence

It awakens an aching hunger
Deep-seated and desperate
Which consumes me entirely
Until I am slave to it

I yearn for you unabashedly
For your entire being
A fervent desire so profound
For you I would mortally sin

Just look and I'll be at your mercy
One word and I'm on my knees
If anything is certain tonight
It will be me begging "please"

Afternoon sun
soaked in skin
Rays replenish
mind then at ease
Sounds are settling
softened by breeze
End of the week
surrounded by green
Two days to please
Reciprocating energy
from the power of flowers
and leaves

Are you still harsh?
Why am I still scared of you?
Slow down and tell me,
Do you love like a sister now?
Can you protect like a brother?

I need to know
See, I took all this time to ease the pain inside
Stitch all the wounds and cover the scars within

I'm learning to love again
It's a process
It might be too slow for you, I fear
Is it safe?
Is there any need for all this amour?

Please let me know in time...

i wonder what a noose around my throat would feel like

i wonder what the pills in my mouth would taste like

i wonder what the razor against my skin would feel like

which one would hurt the least?
which one would be quickest?
which one would make it easier for those i’ll leave behind?

i wonder how long it would take for them to go through my things

i wonder how long they would cry for me

i wonder how long it would take for them to forget me

when will be long enough?
will it be years? weeks? days?
what amount of time will make it easier for those i’ll leave behind?

i wonder if my life will amount to something

i wonder if anyone will remember me as a stranger

i wonder if i have the courage to end myself

i guess we’ll find out