Today I am slickly coated
with the sheen of a long walk,
only holding hands with purpose;
the goal to find it.
The destination that holds promise
according to the latest yelp reviews-
promise worth remembering
while bearing the heat of the summer subways,
the morose and lonely feeling
of watching a couple cling to each other
as the trains swing our bodies around.
When the stench of the city streets-
the receptacles for those
who can't wait any longer,
invade our noses like they were home.
The promise that morphs into ringing
in my head when my stomach grumbles
next to the carts on the sidewalks
with the burning flesh they call halal meat,
smells warm and familiar
sharing shish kabob kisses and chicken knishes,
but I've left those days behind me.
Now I'm scouring the streets of Brooklyn,
for that new chic creperie sans animals,
things with faces, or friends if you will,
screaming "Find me!"
whilst dodging the heady scents of Popeye's,
and bacon egg and cheeses,
meat markets, fish markets, bright moving ads,
of women ******* clad eating burgers.
Would you like lox or sturgeon with that bagel?
and when I do get to the little mom-and-pop
of a hole-in-the-wall cafe,
I think of the carnivorous brothers and sisters
that have had the meatballs to join me.
The countless nights I've had to explain
where I get my protein from,
that yes, I can eat pizza.
And no, it's not a travesty
that I want to give up cheese.
Because the real travesty is in the this country's handling
of living things, and by animals- I mean all of us.
And carnivorous brothers and sisters,
when you're feeling threatened and defensive- and you've got
guilt and entitlement coursing through your
friend-fed veins and thus you claim,
We're shoving our vegan, vegetarian, pescetarian
efforts down your throats.
Think again and know that we're only doing the best
we can to help what we believe in.
That we eat and live
with purpose and promise in mind.
Real women can eat vegetables too.
You can take vegetarians to barbecues.
Trust me, we're good at co-existing,
Are you?

Sweet knight.
Sweet, silent knight.
I see you when you don't look at me.
You have tired eyes in a castle,
and though you call it salvation,
that blue light wont protect them.
And those hands gloved in mail-
they are not only meant
to grip cold connection.
You may have forgotten
amongst the digital clutter
but your sword is pen.
Quit confusing it with distraction.
Drop your devices and mechanisms
that you use for isolation.
Hold this plea as your new prayer,
even if it's only a whisper.
Make something.
I don't expect greatness,
but when you dress your wounds
in hesitation and use your insecurities
as your armor-
all I can ask is that you make something.
Harness your fear as your steed-
and ride it with ink as you need.
Please just make something.
There are hours in the day spent on
words never said because
those tired eyes are at a stand-still
on a sheet of electronic nonsense,
and you tremble with your shield
of self-doubt.
A block's only a battle,
Don't lose the war to online addiction,
cell phone conversations in meaningless text,
there's more left in your creative conviction.
I see it when you don't look.
Sweet knight,
you are the one in my mind
that is there to save me with your speech
I beseech you,
*Make something.

Where does it lie?
It's either throwing sand
or digging holes.
It's either loyalty
or tainted souls.
Proclaimed neutrality.
I call bs.
It's fear wrapped up
in indifference.
Can't let them know
that you're watching them.
Scoffing, bitter
when you're really wanting,
when you're really loving.
Condescend,
you're better than ill.
You see a shrink.
You've never been still.
I try to accept those in places
I used to be.
You try to forget
you were ever less-
running from one end
to the other.
They're bad,
and you're good.
With no in-betweens.

I have something to write,
but I'm falling deeper.
It sears in my chest
and keeps me up early.
I know what I want to say
but I hold my lips shut.
I know what I want to do
but I won't let my fingers move.
I guess if I don't write about it
it won't be true.
It won't be forever.
It won't be you.

I can bet it was just as unbearable for her.

When the sweet not-so-serious,
is all that you have left
as the glue
holding you together.
It's doesn't take much pushing off
to fall completely apart.
It doesn't take much new,
to begin to be forgotten.
If not drool from a better treat,
wet tears from long retreat.