If only I could
turn my thoughts
into a squadron of paper airplanes and
fly them without care
from the rooftop of my imagination...

Such a little little man
playing his little little games
in a little little attempt
to control his little little world....

You're not the One
Who makes me want to
forgo my umbrella and
walk bareheaded in the evening rain,
You're not the One
who makes me sit up all night
playing the same sad love song
over and over
Until even my dog wants me to move out,
You're not the One
who makes me seven once more
And excited to find magic
around every corner,
You're not the One
who makes me hug
my pillow as I sigh and
yearn for his gentle touch,
You're not the One
Who seeing me across the room
sets me on fire
with a single glance.
You're not the One
who promised me a rainbow
One evening's walk
after a date made in Heaven,
You're not the One,
You're not the One,
I'm so sorry--
You're not the One.

And so he sat next to me,
his bloodhound pacing the bus floor,
Round and round in a tight circle,
before settling at our feet.
Sadness hung on the young man
like a soggy blanket,
And my
observation, sharpened by intuition
led me to venture...
"It's cold out tonight."
He startled and smiled: "Why yes, yes it is".

(What do we do for the downtrodden?)

"Is this the bus to Capitol Hill?
I'm going to buy groceries,
my boy here is hungry  and I hope one is still open".
I looked at him closely
"No, this one goes to Queen Anne,
everything's closed for the evening.
Maybe I'm wrong,
I don't think you're okay,
Somehow I know
you're not telling the truth".

He sighed and shrank into himself,
"You guessed right-- I am homeless,
On the streets for a year now.
Me and my buddy,
with no end in sight".

(What do we do for the downtrodden?)

"They took all my things
when my car was broke into,
My entire world shattered with the blow of a hammer,
But at least I've got him,
and he glanced towards his companion,
I'll find a warm vent,
and we'll sit there til morning."

Bartell's was still open
and I opened my wallet,
Some soup, of course, dog food,
roast beef hash and hot tea,
"Please find a good doctor, there are many to help you,
I can tell that you're suffering, give you and buddy a new life."
He thanked me and with a whistle
called the bloodhound to him,
They turned right towards Lake Union,
Fading into the night.

(What do we do for the downtrodden?)

**** it, did you just light your hookah?
I was hoping to have a cozy chat about the world of the Red Queen
Not the Mary Jane land you think to lead me into
where you live out your lust-filled dreams,
I was hoping for a little bit of tea
and gossip,
just as we used to when we were younger and unknown
I don't want to sit on the wet grass while you boast about your brain size
--Or other measurements--
the talk always ends up
with you under the mushroom,
giggling like a hyena,
and me just standing there,
tapping my slippered foot in disgust.

It takes a fair amount of confidence
and a good-sized ego,
To drop the line and coolly walk away,
Certain that she will take the bait...

Sometimes I'm rain when I appear sunny,
Grey when I 'm actually blue,
My ups moving towards downs,
Inner turbulence masked with a smile.
I'm eternally aware of the butterflies,
Circling my seeking mind,
Scary-fascinated when hell
breaks loose,
And the butterflies dance towards freedom...

"Lady Liberty must die," the Orange King mused,
"Public opinion is not how I got this job.
My fame must be locked in,
A surefire certainty,
My praises sung for generations to come".
He sat up straighter on his gold-plated throne and
Imperiously called for the bards.
"Make it known in the kingdom", he intoned with a frown,
"That Liberty has repeatedly lied.
She's quite fake, in fact she's a bore,
Outdated and certainly no style!"
A bard raised his hand,"Sir, I will do as you ask,
Your greatness is apparent to all,
You can rest quite content
By the time I am done
Lady Liberty will be comatose!"
And it happened to pass all over the land,
Posters placed where the public would see,
Liberty's depravity laid bare,
(She hated the Orange King),
She must pay for her
outrageous crimes.
Many were horrified
But some people cheered,
The Orange King was free at last,
With Lady Liberty gone,
A new day would dawn,
"It is time to recover our past".

Maybe, just maybe...
America gets lucky,
****** gets vaporized!

Walking up the rickety stairs,
Patchouli and cigarette smoke
combat for supremacy
Before I even reach the door,
and I step through to see
The everyday undead scattered on the thick carpet like so many corpses blown out of Wednesday Addams' haunted dollhouse.

Maybe it wasn't wise to come.

A cd player informs me that, indeed,
Bela Lugosi's dead,
And I cautiously move into the living room.
Ruby lips and ivory faces emerge from the gloom,
Incurious glances marking my progress
As an acolyte guides me to the Queen of the festivities
Holding court in a corner of the living room.
Her waist-length silver-gilt hair and damp skin like fresh camellias gleam in the candlelight,
A studded black goblet brimming with Jack Daniels
Is handed to her,
A token of homage she eagerly welcomes
   while nodding me forward.
Whispers behind me tell her story,
Of how she's seen a thing or two in her time,
And why her flat stare and Theda Bara smile give glimpses of her bottomless occult wisdom.
As her slim fingers play with a knotted black necklace,
She considers me long before finally declaring,
--"My God, you're an old soul"--
And she pats the cushion next to her,
An invitation to drink deep and close of her dark knowledge.
A cup of something unknown is pressed into my hand
and I sip, hanging onto every arcane word she utters.
Night slowly fades into dawn
and I wake cold and stiff from a kitchen floor sleep
only to see the Queen buttoning the cuffs on her white poplin shirt.
Smoothing her tweed skirt, she steps into her pumps,
Grips her cup of coffee,
And with a cheery wave, leaves for work.

Eyes laser lock into mine
Broad white hands grip my hips
and like lion like wolf like the night
I'm pulled onto your aching mouth
Violent with longing I dance with and against you
While the air crackling wet and hot
moves around us with the sharp smell of fevered impatience.
Our searching fingers ****** into each other's hair,
My curls spiraling your ear like a witch's vise,
yours dark-straight and otter-slick,
daggering and slicing my open skin.
The brine from your forehead oceans me
As you pour yourself into every pore of my body
seeking the source, seeking infinity,
and I'm tasting you, wanting you,  
my senses overwhelmed by your driving desire,
Every synapse is pin point and I'm dangerous as I try to hold onto this massiveness this urgency to burn and meld with you as we fling ourselves into the abyss of a dying sun and shatter into a million fragments...

The stars have gone out and I look at the distant shore hoping for some sort of crazy meaningless distraction to push me away from your sapphires and mouth smiling wide I want to float into the stratosphere and forget you went dark and I was both dammed and ****** trying to crawl out from under the wet blanket of your silences onto dry land I will always want you poison sweet and tempting like the flower Persephone knew she shouldn't pick but did anyway like the pomegranate she ate that bound her forever.
I am unsouled.
I am unsouled.

Which fruit tastes sweeter?
Desire drives my stretching hand.
Both sides look askance.

Hope--despaired.
Constance--cheated.
Faith--no longer believes.
Charity--is stingy.
Prudence--is reckless.
Patience--isn't.

And Genevieve--
Has no business being in this poem.

Half an egg, a chicken thigh,
And a tower of noodles
soaring high to a pair of chopsticks
floating in the air,
The entire mix graced with a green garnish,
All if it fake and covered in varnish.

---by Brian Jobe, author of "Bird's Nest In Your Hair"

Black lives should matter
Why is this so hard to get?
We all want justice.

Chorus
And here's to you, Tucker Carlson
I loathe you more than you will ever know,
Please, please go.
What's that response, Tucker Carlson?
I'm a snowflake and I'm
Probably gay,
Hey, hey, hey...
Hey, hey, hey...

l.
I'd like to find the idiot
Who gave you your own show
Which *** was firmly kissed to get your job?
Roger Ailes is probably laughing from his couch in Hell,
He never dreamed that FOX could sink this low.

And now look at you, Tucker Carlson,
Ratings climbing higher every day,
(Sad to say),
Keep telling lies, Tucker Carlson,
You'll be president if they get their way,
Hey, hey, hey,
hey, hey, hey.

ll.
Remember when Jon Stewart took you down?
It was at a "Crossfire" debate
It was epic, you got canceled,
That was just the start,
Everything you touch is second-rate.

Where have you gone, Bill O'Reilly?
The "No-Spin Zone" is calling out to you,
(Boo hoo hoo).
What's that again, Tucker Carlson?
Bill's a perv and you are here to stay,
Hey, hey, hey,
Hey, hey, hey.

Maybe the idea has had its day
And the names associated with it have been evoked to the point of meaningless boredom,
But when the dead leaves are blown away from the headstone,
And the bones taken out and put under the microscope once more,
It isn't too far-fetched to have collective remembrance of the heart-stopping sounds of heavy booted feet marching in perfect, demonic unison,
The faceless faces of cruel men watching the crowd with expressions devoid of mercy and compassion.,
And ourselves blood-red mad , raw-throated from the shouts and screams of hatred of the other,
We can only wonder
at the possibility of our inner darknesses rising up to consume and drown the souls of those around us in an excess of misguided vengeance,
Our humanity and tolerance destroyed by the pops of the first bullets.

We must never come this way again.

Hope shook out her moonlit skirts and bent to whisper in my ear,
"Yes, you can wish upon that star
and dare to chase your dreams."
As usual, Hope proved elusive
and stranded me in the
Desert of Illusion,
Forever chasing the fleeing rainbow
With nothing more than a chipped magnifier
And a wallet full of tears.

A knee across the neck
It only took nine minutes
" I can't breathe", he gasped...

Orange Nero tweets
Threatens using vicious dogs
Liberty's lamp dims.

Protests everywhere
Nations going up in flames
Justice needed NOW.

"Mike, I need a cure--
"Everyone says Clorox works..."
"Sir, you try it first."

Sea slick like an oyster
Your skin glows like a Capri lagoon
And I'm raw from your cat-tongue face
Your neck smells of forest and the open road
I can't wait to explore

God, where's the duct tape?
Our leader just won't shut up.
His lies burn my ears.

I am tired of wiping
Word dribble from the corners of your mouth
And your continuous pushing of similes and metaphors around your bowl
Only to occasionally stop and throw entire ribbons of iambic pentameter against the wall
Exhausts me
I am raising a baby monster poet

anger swells but does not surge the dam has held this long and I feel imprisoned by language I cannot pull myself  free of
the thickets of nationality my feet squelch in the black ooze of star-spangled imperialism rockets burst in the backyard of my head the anthem worthless if I cannot take a knee for the fallen and the voiceless...

And so you see...
I built my wall,
Not because I disliked you,
But because I could not allow you
To know more of my truth,
My dreams, my fears, and what makes me
Lie awake on a rainy night.
I cannot trust you to carefully
Hold my heart,
Or pull me back before I walk off that cliff...
Again.
And so,
I built my wall,
Brick by brick,
Tear by tear,
Until...you disappeared.

Some people refuse to die
Even though they're given every opportunity
How many times have you staked him now?
And still.. his will is sure

Sometimes I think you might be a child of the ******
But you're  probably just a ****** child
The longer I know you, the more I hate your dad...

Death arrived on a plane,
Eager for lovers,
Hungry for converts.
The Emerald Lady cowers in fear,
Empty and silent, her night creatures hidden in shadow, her daytime a wasteland,
Everyone waits for the signal.

Romantic posings
I think I would die for you
Such a drama queen.