I write near the open window and feel
Early autumn's cool crisp gently passing over my neck and shoulders.
The neighbourhood saxophonist leans into
"Starry, Starry Night", caressing the darkness and my ears
with silky melancholic sweetness.
"If music be the food of love--Play on "

In hippie times
The solution to world problems was getting everyone on a remote mountain top
And pry off the caps
Of ice-cold Coca Colas.
While bottles were handed around everyone
lifted voices
And sang heartfelt prayers
For racial and religious harmony,
Seekers of world peace clasped outstretched hands and graced each other with knowing smiles
In recognition of shared humanity.
Somehow the Coke seemed to work,
And the darkness was held back--
At least for the length of a swallow.
I wonder what miracle soft drink is
Needed to solve the problems
Mankind faces nowadays?

I sincerely
  Hope your
beautiful home
Is industrial-strength
 Plexiglass.

**** 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.

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...

What you call freedom
Is the right to self-ruin
Don't let me stop you.

Anxiety is sitting in your painful chair,
Sipping green tea and listening
to your reflection throw itself against a window over and over again.
I don't know why I enjoy feeling this bad
A participant to your ravenous
debasement,
Maybe I am also hungry...

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

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

The year is now done.
I say with sincerity:
"**** 2020".

You have betrayed me, dear body,
Greying my hair in bits and pieces,
Finally losing all sense of restraint,
And drowning my head (and elsewhere)
In an **** of winter delight.
You have caused me to sag, soften and yet stiffen
When I execute my new early morning ballet of groaning
contortions,
And now, you have perhaps committed the greatest betrayal
of all by taking me
to the first basecamp of what will be the final summit.
If I could, I would trade you
in.

Three ****** and it starts
An x-ray tells the story
The door to the tunnel has opened
I hope that this road has two paths
And not one.

Life can be like the Sahara in August
When water becomes an urgent issue
And the oasis is another day away...

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.

Replacement's a myth
Sold by those who crave power
Fear can make men ****.

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

Please gift me
Thor's powers, I really want to bounce a hammer off this person's skull now!

rage.

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

Five people only
I have one wife, four children...
One child eats outside.

Moving in silence,
Shadows part, leaving no trace,
A cat's ninth journey.

"Love is nothing but a biological transaction," you yelled at me and we fought anew over the perfidies of the male ***.
Initially dismayed, I soon understood that
As a girl, you saw your father break your mother,
Her will over the years fusing with his own
As she became shadow,
And then sickly ghost,
Her lucky marriage effectively erasing the stain of her Jewish birth--
As oh so Catholic Daddy
proudly told his friends and relatives.
And even though you tried to fight Daddy's self-importance,
He was always there behind you, squeezing you between his fists,
molding you, as he imitated his god creating Eve,
Casting you into his own perfect image of chaste and chastened womanhood.
And when your mother decided to permanently leave,
Daddy forbade you to miss her,
Celebrating, instead, his own resurrection with a new project and a new wife.
Twice.
You thought you could resist,
But Daddy's benevolent advice
about your plain face and lumpy body wormed into your fragile psyche and
cracked you in two, leaving you raving and disjointed.
Daddy eventually joined his sky-Father
And you wept, vowing to forget and remember his legacy.
And now you live, addled and alone,
A basket of pills on your dresser,
Fanatically frustrated yet terrified of a man's  touch,
Angry yet wishing Daddy was here to save you.
And as the years passed and your friends married and divorced, you
convinced yourself that you had
escaped a woman's fate , not
realizing that you had offered up your own heart and soul  years ago as a suitable offering to His eternal memory.

Yes, Daddy made ****** sure there would be no following act.

Your words flashed
And my skin turned to cinders.
But I heard rain outside,
And put on my flippers,
Diving deep down,
Into the nearest puddle,
Your face turned liquid
As I seek absolution.

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

Tantum tempus temporis
quoniam aliena femina in meo cubiculo dormivit;
ecce illi quantum dulce somnus est.
Quanta etiam libera somnia sunt.
In alia aetate mundum certe rexit
vel optimo regi in matrimonio fideliter ducta est
qui iuxtus flumen psalmos luce lunae scripsit.

**** me iri foras egressum et spatiatum
Nihil occurit hic, nihil umquam fit.
Praeterea si incedat iam volat me narrare;
habeo nihil, praecipue erga quicquid erat.

Viam cepi aviam
qua celeres non superant;
dignis praemia sunt
qui verbum veritatis distinguere possunt.
Hospes solus me docere potuit
praeclaram orem iustitiae contemplari
et videre oculum pro oculo, et dentem pro dente.

Nisi duo homines in mansionem,
Est nullus in viso; verem exspectant,
proinde quasi ver plaustro accederet.
Mundus deleretur ea nocte
sed meae amicae aequum esset;
illa meo cubiculo dormiret *** revenirem.

Meridiano me promoveo
adhuc in obscura parte viae;
in angustos corruere
et constans manere non possum.
Alius mea ore dicit
sed solum meo animo audit,
calcas omnibus etiam tibi feci
quibus tamen careo.

Ego et ego
In creatione quo ingenium alicuius
nec alicui ignoscit nec excolit.
Ego et ego
unus alteri dicit nullus et videre
imaginem meum et vivere possit.

From "Bird's Nest In Your Hair" by Brian Jobe

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?)

This time, I need to end it slowly...
Half-boot to full
And then...She's gone.

The curb awaits.

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"

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...

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

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

He drove up from Federal Way
South of Seattle.
Federal.
Way.
I did not ask him.
But he did it anyway.
His intent is to be"my future husband".
I should be ecstatic.
Future.
Husband.
I do not want it.
But he wants it anyway.
I would be his dream wife.
How lucky I would be!
Dream.
Wife.
If only I'd stop thinking.
I disagree with him.
But I don't matter anyway.

Luck led me to his mother,
A goddess who
kept him in a Ziploc bag,
"He's the Special One" she sighed
And reached in to rub his star-spangled head.
Visits on Thursdays,
My boy prince,
My young king,
wintry-eyed with hair
caressing his neck like a black snake,
His mouth thinned
from hours of runic recitation,
his eyes weary with remembering
forbidden knowledge
of an older time.
With my muse
and an old bloodhound
We'll tour the world
in an authentic 60's Volkswagen minivan
we stole from a hippy's backyard.
When night falls
and the fireflies stab the dark with flashing points of light,
We'll conjure archways dripping with roses
Our ******* rapturous
on sleeping bags stashed in the back.
Honey mead will flow as we solve riddles
and listen to the sounds of ol' Terra
creaking on her eternal foundation...

the edges of my hatred for you had grown ragged
and i realized it was time to file them down,
i picked up the whetstone of contempt and weighed it carefully,
its blunt smoothness removing me to a higher plane,
And i smiled as i placed it on the table,
My pleasure almost obscene
As i slowly dragged the edge of disgust
across its surface, enhancing and restoring the original shine...

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...

A call to rebel
From the top, is no call.
It is sedition.