On the sofa we lay,
On his shoulder I leaned,
And he smiled and said,
"Play me a song."

So I grabbed my guitar
And began to pluck strings,
But then paused and thought,
"This is all wrong."

What I held was a fruit,
Yellow, bruising, and curved.
I peered up at him--
He didn't notice.

I continued to play,
But it squished with each strum--
He laughed as it came into focus.

We've all lost our spark.
Maybe a new start on an old habit,
clarity for a change, all the same
blamed, framed, and insane.
Time to call in the strays
a game, a laugh for the blues and the blue jays;
the good old days that never came.

The spiritual hour:
The clock,
Static, stagnant,
Glowers.

In murky pleasure, fingers rest.
Cradling a cigarette – hand rolled,
Wrinkled raw.
Smouldering.
Pressed between lip, and the grimace of youth
As gentle licks of grey
Obscure his vision’s corner,
Flickering.

As new born temporary pleasure,
Living short its life
To the car horn muse.
Soon finds itself in a sunken pit
Face down,
Ground in between battlements.

On nicotine fueled days
Where dull, heavy musk hangs malignant.
He sits.

And - raising a cup of crude
To toast the capital ******* passing
Peering over near pressed vessel,
Straining through a blur of steam.

I am twenty years old today.
I know nothing.
I am thirty years old today.  
I know a bit, but not what I’m doing.

I am forty years old today.
What little I thought I knew… turns out it was wrong.
I am fifty years old today.
I know more than you sonny.

I am sixty years old today.
I’m tired of knowing.
I am seventy years old today.
I never appreciated people.

Thorny theories, swan songs
to ask but once
Anita Bryant , a  Southern librarian
swam Bathing suit
in the algae deemed
the origin of mankind,
betrothed or otherwise
whispered the newly keeper of the Fauna.

our skyline is hazed
and our system a maze
the streets are lined with
blood
and all you see is mud

you, political giants
billionaires in chairs
pretending like you care
when all you do is claim its "fair"
your lying to the poor
as they die on their kitchen floors

you are not above humanity
even in your mighty vacation house its insanity
who are you to say
that you are to pave the way:
you claim democracy
we see hippocracy

you cheat the poor
to get rich more
is it so hard for empathy
you arn't charged with a felony

your racism defines you
yet somehow they defy you
maybe as you bomb their land
and say you are here to save their band

look here, ******, can't you see
nothing is simply what i seems to be
how can you see fault in
when you can't even see past the color of skin