"hierarchal" poems
nobody likes the full name.
the class is known simply as "Cell."
stephen king is just as lazy with his titles.
that fool fears blood.
i was listening to rain washing out the gutters
when our teacher called on me,
asking me to explain in my own words:
"How is molecular transportation so highly organized?"
i posited that organelles are not organized.
they are only civilized:
self-governed by apoptosis and a blueprint of proximal culture,
their manuals inefficient, but honed for cooperation through trial and error.
"I'm predisposed to disagree," he said with a tangible glee.
knowing we all adore his berating honesty.
his question stuck with me.
perhaps because i was working
for the office of sustainability
becoming regularly incapacitated
by the shame and exhaustion of preaching.
leading an uprising through the power of teaching.
i decided the only organized transportation
is an axial conduit to the electorate's war,
always social and hierarchal
because that's what culture is for.
at 19 i was loaded up with a sticky elixir
to be protected from being called a *****
i will never forget how I spotted lightly for three days
-stopped for one week-
and then for two straight months, it was a downpour.
we are only tearing apart the bitty ants
and there is still blood on our hands.
i believe blood looks best on our hands.
but we were taught to meticulously detach
and to prepare our matching bargains
beneath the atmosphere's volatile dance.
poison is in the body and the air
ready to be bottled and batched.
even when i find my friends
whole and happy in France,
my key stays clotted in the latch.
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 5:13 PM UTC
It is just the beginning in my mind,
the middle and end displaced.
Waking each morning with greater expectations,
Dreaming of lost boundaries, no seclusion without exclusion.
Days before long lost to memory,
No hold does it have on our thoughts.
Before is gone, a mere mystery,
There is no getting back what we've lost.
The same no longer exists, only otherness triumphs in the new.
The familiar ultimately replaceable,
Why not trying being grateful, just for you.
As long as you are homeless,
There is no need to hide,
From those unwanted obligations,
Hierarchal decisions no longer apply
When nothing is left to be forgiven.
Bask in solitude, seek new territory,
Today enjoy being invisible, in these moments you are free.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
How long does it take for a single thought to disintegrate into oblivion, like a leaf in a stormy tantrum of winds?
Discarding uttered, syllabic hopes and exchanging them for silent resignation.
We must learn to trust the weight of our voices, crying out against the hierarchal restrain of free-thinkers, the infliction of pain upon zealous, revolutionary-born eye-blinkers, altering the stale air and walk of a complacent nation.
A nation choosing easy over beneficial, leaving the actual judging to the judicial minds and entwining quick satisfaction with tangible, ready action, but ignoring the consequential intellect to make lasting effects.
Conquer instant hesitation and favor deeper existence. Learn how to cherish contemplation; Don't be a slave to resistance.
You are more than a work-driven vessel, guided by the ideals of those "in control."
Re-discover your original freedoms and liberation, born from a seed of purpose and self-determination, rooted in potential and power to defy limitation, you are stronger than what you believe you have become...
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC