Don't you know I am a mirror?
But my handlers didn't handle me too well
Ignoring fragile this side up,
They dropped me on my head
And naturally, I shattered
Had I been alive,
I guess I'd now be dead.
A shard of me is trapped in Charleston
Caged in by a terrorist
Hatred and racism rattle the bars
What the **** do they mean
When they insist they do not see it?
My broken shard shows a murderer
Protected and escorted by the police
And isn't that the most ****** up part?
My broken shard shows a murderer
Protected and escorted by the police
And no one can tell them apart
I've forgotten the names
I've forgotten the faces
I've forgotten the number
of people of color killed
by cops in this ******* country
Because there have been too many
And a new soul joins the list almost daily
I don't remember their faces
But I see them in my shards
How do so many white people
Think it isn't our fault?

the bullet stopped at the
back of the skull;
a shame,
he absorbed the force of
a hateful world
but wouldn’t let it
through
let the blood
spill
let it all run
                    free

this villain was once
a hero when mud
was wonderful &
gun powder was miraculous;
he collapsed intact,
metal pellet and iron will
clanging with the concrete earth,
his ears of cartilage
dying to hear the world's
v i  b   r  a t i  o   n  s.

It all started with a big mistake;
I’m here to tell it was all a big fake.
Fred hit Kelly in his great big mouth;
He said he caught Kelly at his girl’s house.
Rosie was jealous of Fred’s main squeeze;
Said she always does what she pleases.
So, she cooked up the story about her.
And Kelly never knew a thing either.
But that didn’t stop the fur from flying.
I tell you the truth, if I’m lying I’m dying.
The mood changed in the old hangout.
Everyone stuck around, nobody cut out.

Everyone was gathered for birthday cheer.
You know, some pool and some beer.
Nobody knew about Rosie’s big lie
Or what kind of crap would soon fly.
They just laughed and cracked jokes;
Enjoyed some legal and illegal smokes.
And when the mood was sufficiently jolly
Rosie quietly took Kelly out into the ally.
Said she saw Kelly go into the house
Fred started fuming, calling Kelly a louse.
He went back in and he smacked old Kelly
And followed it up with a shot to the belly.

While Kelly was reacting, Fred purely raged.
He wasn’t quite done, was not even assuaged.
But Kelly’s girl Lydia heard what Fred said
And smacked Rosie up side of her head.
She started screaming that Rosie was a liar,
And then there were two more irons in the fire.
It was two women and two men slugging.
The Fist City Express started chugging.
Mirrors were broken by costly pool sticks
The bartender finally got tired of the tricks
And got out his baseball bat and stepped in.
Rosie ******* up and hit him on the chin.

By now, a customer called nine one one,
And the end of the brouhaha had begun.
All four of the combatants were busted.
And the cops finally decided they trusted
The regular customers who all insisted
That the bartender not be arrested.
It might be good to say it was a big shame
But fights in bars are the name of the game.
Especially when women fight, it’s a show
And bystanders in bars always let them go
And then cheer and some even take bets.
This is how selling alcohol to fools often gets.

A room filled with smoke and drink and
knives in pockets. A man in a grey suit
sits at the bar and lights a cigar.  

He can smell violence in the air here. Metallic and
sickly sweet. He grins with anticipation and orders
a drink. Old Fashioned.

A short time later in a room filled with smoke
and blood and knives gripped in dead hands,
a man in a red suit laughs softly and sips an
Old Fashioned.

It's time I write about War.
A gruesome act men adore.
One of the oldest acts man endures.
I say it's like music or emotion.
Natural to humans and complex like every foot soldier or turret in motion.
Different reasons, different causes, different ends and results,
who can really say who's at fault .
Too think you can find the high of ******* in the moment
or become addicted to killing.
There's something in the bloodshed we enjoy, no, we thrive!
To want more from the gore.
To want more, from the war stories to be more than lore.
That's something to think about from war.

Mother, mother guns everywhere
I woke up—the blood on their faces
The rats are out of their lair
Peasants shiver at their terrible aces

Mother, mother a rifle on your head
The place is on a storm , help me
I looked back but everyone is dead
The darkness slowly swallows me

Mother, mother abandon any hope
There is none to find, none to hold
If dying is freedom, then life is in the rope
My mind blazed in agony, but tears
stained cold

Mother, mother tell me goodbye
I'll close my eyes, remain unfeeling
As I bring your face in me until I die
Even though that thought will have
me hurting

My brother told me to hide
Under the table when
He’s upset.

I do. I hide
Under the table.

The small space
Under the table
Is our only sanctuary.
In here, we are both
Safe.

“They’re giving you
Trouble again?” he asks.
I do not reply.
I do not have to.
He is only a figment of
My imagination.

Clash.
Then a scream.

“Why did you ****
Yourself?” I ask.
My brother does not reply.
He only stares,
with a gentle smile on his lips.

I wish to rip that beautiful smile off his face.

A scream.
Then a clatter;
Like of glass pieces shattering all over the floor.

The yelling intensifies.
I can hear my mother screaming,
Crying.
My father curses,
Raging with fury.
He is knocking off every pieces of furniture in our
House.

I look around,
but my brother is gone.

So I hide
Just like he told me,
Under the table.