all my past
      imposes on my breath today

i enter a grand mosaic public building
        and on goes my medical face mask
i join the back of the queue with my documents in one hand
            and my numbered butcher ticket
                          in the other
i admire the mosaics
               a jarring tide of art against the bureaucratic purpose
                     of these rooms
gauzed in with own product exhaust
       all my past  is attending    
exhumed
  patted  into my breath
    baiting remembrance with unsubtle notes
for example :
   integrated spittings of 'drum' tobacco (i quit a decade ago)
horning catches of cologne every boy used as a teen
seasonal scents  unweaned from deep in my system
(some reigned in from the different countries
                                                    i lived in or visited)
then i am frisked back to infancy   with breast milk and rusks
it's all there    a basking flippancy
all there in musk about my face
  one fragrance after another

it's an honest relief
     to host an alternative to my 'old man' breath
           but odd and concerning
something of the brain ?

Total me a dream
Find me, a corner of an eye
Save me, the turn of chaste, in whim
And poise, me is a reason to be why

A house...
A character of decency, we delve long and tight
A stirring hour, we hope is beyond a days shroud
Taken with the memory, of sincerity to share might...?

A place...
Found with the eyes of wonder, we make for ourselves
Chance heiring, in the name of a vice's pace
Of coping how, and the semblance of seclusion, a wealth?

A room...
For sign's of witness, particular to shadows of change
Wealth is to be the common, the thought to let liberty mushroom
And become a friend, of worth in loyal sates; however strange...

A step...
Forward with communion to entail even the solitude, we meant
For a night's angel, and the demands of couth we select for wit?
See the composed guide me to the strength I know, is more sent...

A stone we should know...
Passing all to follow the method of our following
Promise and privilege, in the seem, to wish once upon a time to owe
Swept away with the today we accept, is a now in the hallowing...

I don't think you know I used to listen to Chet Baker.
He's likely sung me to sleep once or twice by now,
but I lost him to time and blues, hidden upon layered
snowfall flung from new ears and new sounds.

So it came as a surprise I'd see him again
elsewhere somehow late one night before bed.
It baffles me you listen to such songs
when most people would rather hear a track from Red.

Our tastes may not align a hundred percent of the time
but at least your palate is something I admire
despite its wayward crimes and objections with mine,
for all its, let's call it, bona fide desire.

However, in the many instances they shake hands--
when they share stances and break lines in the sand--
those moments make me proud I met you.
Not many people can juggle in tandem.

After all, it takes two to know tango is best
when both are aware of exactly how either
would break the rules of the dance
to bend the movements to their own fancy.

A taste of life:
green mangoes dipped in
vinegar and salt
None distilled moments
rising worries on top your head- a malt
You keep blaming yourself;
worried and pressed strain on cheeks
Squeezing in a sting of pain
as the first and long taste of something sweet

Pools of spit
flowing unrest in the society
of oppressed people
How not to speak in a place
that has you swallow a needle
The lethal poison of dying tastefully
******* bullets—oh what a steel
They robbed your opinion, with their
own stronger opinion over yours
It's always the problem of a bigger
world; you can never speak against a first
world country. Clench your jaws, and grab
a gun— we're about to fight their wars

The taste of blood
you taste out of a ****** nose
We're torn in our hearts, torn in
our clothes—killing the look of wearing
bullet holes
Gold digging in pockets by the mines
of minors—still a bunch of hoes
Growing up in the dark gardens made of
weeds. You've crowned yourself in shame,
but call yourself king and queen

The taste of failure in the world
the taste of expired goods in a first bite
An approach to running into conclusions,
delusions of subtle uneasiness, of seeing a
roach in a supermarket pie

It's like wanting to die, but not having the
means to afford a less painful suicide
So you keep pushing on in this distasteful
life —dying inside. It all tastes so vile!

Why won't my tongue go numb
to the displease of not tasting success
Failure feels like a chilli cough stuck
in your chest. Depends on how well
you can cope with being depressed

You'll acquire all the tastes you
like, but also know so well the tastes
so vile of life. All acquired tastes

Sometimes you change
And so does your mentality.
You ain't recognize your taste,
Unfollow pages, cause now they bring anxiety.

Sometimes you change
And not only location,
But also people that you place
Around yourself, it's called prioritization.

Sometimes you change
And ain't making same decision.
New choices you now make
Do set new course and clear your vision.

Ah! You're already here
I've been waiting dear
This you have to hear
It's somethin' to adhere

It's tongues dried
and lungs fried
Not other way around
And I don't refund

So let's get down
to what you want
The tastes I own;
the ones you'll flaunt

Cracked bones
and hacked jaws
Charred toes
and bottled gore

From pickled hearts
to private parts
Just say the name,
I've got it all

Just take your time
and think it through
And when it's right
I'll come find you

It's been a while
Did you decide?
Just ditch your pride
and speak your mind

So it's 'crispy skin'?
'kay, I'll let you in
Let's taste your kin
Yes, it's not a sin

waves are like people
no two are alike
yet they all end up doing the same thing
like the one before it
and the one after
at their own pace
they’ll wait
until the perfect time
that one that just feels right
but when it comes
the beach is different
tastes have changed
because the trends have too