Anger, purer than dark chocolate
A seat, right next to the agitator, yet still underneath
Our system is not working.
We are busted, building Babylon,
and now the essence is dust,
all in my eyes, causing tracing,
all in my mouth, causing

silence.

Three days of summer rain, thunder past on noisy tracks. You smell it, and feel its sprays, from the safety of Grandma’s screened porch. Crickets and grasshoppers replace el-trains and car horns. Mouth full of bubble gum, and canvas Chucks on your feet. All of the essentials are present, except the whisper in your ear, which says “Capture this moment. You’re gonna need it in about forty years.”

The chipped mill stone disaster machine churns.
The grist is ground to different forms, and names.
A lava flow of self hatred, yet burns.
He’s haunted by perils of endless flames.
Again, he approaches, then he retreats.
These days, he finds he’s nearly out of fuel.
He dodges boulders, hurled at his own feet.
All that is left is bone, ground into gruel.
His pride has left the building long ago.
His ego can no longer hide from truth.
He shuns the proper places he should go.
He locks himself in medication’s booth.
His holy book remains within arm’s reach.
He must survive this storm, so he can teach.

Greetings!
We offer congratulations, and welcome you to death ground. Fight valiantly, or be massacred. Lunch will be served, at the completion of human hacking. Enjoy your stay.

I sat, reading on a bench, at the harbor. She sat on the river bank, draped in a flag of pink precision, decorated by large butterflies, of various colors. She revealed, with head turns, to the left & right, that she was Asian. She took pictures, I wrote poetry. I wanted to leave, but she remained seated, so I was stuck: her willing captive. Her black hair cascaded down her back & both shoulders, and I wondered what life would be like, if she were in love with me.
I stood.
I turned.
I left the butterflies on the river bank.