My solitude is your bait

You come back
Because I can still be glued to you
Like your cigarette did to your mouth
The only time I slept on your chest




-LynnAA

The Great Red Spot
Gracing Jupiter's surface
Beautiful and intriguing from the outside
And a whirlwind within

Galactic disposition
Relentless exposition
A guided meditation
To harbor one's condition
An earwax candle mission
Removing audible visions
Internal text to bring forth next
The silent-held emissions

The big day was a week away
The streets were being swept
Folding stands erected
Where homeless, last week slept

To make a good impression
The Mayor told one and all
To step up and take note
To answer his loud call

We must show the whole country
We are the best at what we do
We have to show the country
The best side of me and you

This meant weeks before this
The police were out in force
Removing the imperfections
Both on foot and out on horse

A cleansing of the city
Make it nice for all to see
It brings up bitter memories
At least it does to me

It happened back in Europe
A little corporal took command
He did his little cleansing
With his little **** band

The town had hung up bunting
Like the banners in Berlin
being homeless is a problem
It's not where a cleansing should begin

The mayor had plans for plenty
Marching bands and lots of press
He'd only answer pre-set questions
In case it all became a mess

He had to have it perfect
It was his first parade you know,
the streets were freshly steam cleaned
There was nothing he didn't want to show

The displaced folks all huddled
Down in the park, a mile back
Veterans and soldiers
Whites, Hispanics, and some black

Their town was in transition
They were the cities hidden sore
They would never be accepted
Never let inside a door

The Mayor stood on the dais
Waved and smiled as folks went by
It was a town of smoke and mirrors
He showed the world a great big lie

Like the small Austrian corporal
who refused to change and would not bend
The Mayor lied to his country
It was the beginning of his end

I was driving in
deep night.  
Off the clock,
scrumptiously free.
I believe it was Modest Mouse on the
stereo.
The dim blue backlight mocking the
seering of the moon.
I love driving.
I love driving at night.
I love the buzz of
blurry lights and landmarks
zooming past my windshield,
like a rodent avoiding my bumper.
If I killed one I guess I wouldn't care.
I'd probably keep on driving.
I'd leave its soul to rot in the summer
tar.
Or maybe not,
Maybe I'd get out
into the
snared night,
and assist its little body into the woods...
Depends on how I feel tonight.

Sometimes, I just want to sit and write
Or read and play
My guitar all night
Sometimes, I want to run outside
Or speak and say
The words on my mind
Sometimes, I want to bathe and sing
To the beat of the flame
As it's flickering

But through everything
I want to learn
and be
in wonder of the world
as it's rotating

Let’s talk about the one percent
No, not the one percent with fancy jets or foreign cars
But the one percent that is behind bars.

Yes it true,
One in a hundred are currently in prison
But what are we supposed to do?

Crime rates are dropping
But what do we have to show
While prison populations continue to grow and grow?

You see this isn’t just a war on crime.
Communities are being taken under siege one at a time.

Because sure it might be one percent overall
But according to the cops all the criminals seem to fall
Inside communities filled with minorities.

In some places it’s as high as 10 percent
Of young men being taken from their cities and sent
Away from their families and homes
Unable to provide for the people they call their own

Children are being taken hostage in this so-called war
Many forced to grow up poor
With just one income with which to buy
Necessities such as food and school supplies

And this doesn’t end when the fathers are free
It’s almost as though they must pay another fee
Because who would ever hire a criminal?
Many employers find such a thing unforgivable.

It’s doesn’t end there
Because the current state of our welfare
Does not allow felons to apply for aid
Such as food stamps or Medicaid.

It’s almost as though children are set up to fail
Once one of their parents is put in jail.
Without food or access to proper health care
Their chances to succeed become extremely impaired.

Children of felons are more likely to
Struggle with language and behavioral problems than me and you
But how can you blame them when
They are forced to go to school again and again
Hungry and tired simply because
There isn’t enough family income
To provide for their basic needs
And give them the tools they need to succeed.  

It’s a cycle you see
Of children growing up unable to be
Everything they can truly become
Because their lives are determined by a sum of
Stereotypes and unfair laws
And treating the symptoms instead of the cause.

And just because it is not happening here
Still means it’s something to be feared.
Because for thousands of children this is their reality
Unable to escape the totality

This problem is not temporary
And we can’t  just push it from our memory.
It’s our duty to give them a voice
It’s up to us, it’s all our choice.