Tantalized by the fractious limerence of a vestigial habiliment of the old order, we conclude that hypertrophy leads to a limbo where random permutations alloyed by the rickety limits of concatenation subsume concepts that are equivocal but populate the imaginations of newfangled art forms that jostle the midwives of rumination to lead to unique pastures that are intuitively calibrated to correspond to definitive unitary events in conceptual space that sprawl unexpectedly towards the desultory but determinative conclusion of a meandering ludic sphere of rambunctious sentiments cobbled together to either rivet the captive audience or annoy the peevish criticaster when they dare to inseminate the canvassed and corrugated tract of intellectual territory created ad hoc to swelter the imagination with audacious ingenuity that is an inevitable byproduct of lexical hypertrophy. In this séance with the immaterial realm of concept rather than the predictable clockwork reductivism of a perceptual welter that is limited by the concretism circumscribed by spatiotemporal stricture we find that an extravagant twinge of even the smallest tocsin in the interstitial carousel of conscientious subroutines compounding recursively to pinprick the cossetted smolder of potentiality rather than extravagate into the vacancy of untenanted nullibiety can spawn a progeny of utilities and vehicles for dexterous abstraction that poach the exotic concepts we fathom by degrees of sapience malingering in lifeless bricolages of erratic abstraction in manners useful to transcend the repose of abeyance and heave awakening into the slumberous caverns of still-life to make them dynamically animated to capture ephemeral events that defy the demarcations of wistful indelicacy of the encumbered bulk of insufficient precision.

Today we embark on a quest to defile the anoegenetic recapitulation of canon that litters the dilapidated avenues of miserly contemplation that has a histeriological certainty and feeds the engines that enable novelty but ultimately remain rancid with the stench of the idiosyncratic shibboleths of synoptic alloyed impoverishment that leads to the vast wasteland of cremated entropy that is a stained foible of misappropriated context interpolated usefully as botched triage for daunting problems that require a nimble legerdemain of facile versatility that we easily adduce to conquer the present with the botched memorial of a defunct salience. Despite the travail of scholars to retreat from the frontier into the hypostatized hegemony of recycled credentialed information, we often are ensnared by the solemn attrition of decay as we traverse the conceptual underpinnings of all bedrock thought only to dangle precariously near the void of lapsed sentience because of transitory incontinence that is contiguous to the doldrums of crudity but nevertheless with mustered mettle we purport that the very self-serious awakening to our hobbling limitations is akin to a prosthetic enhancement of ratiocination capable of feats that stagger beneath the lowest level of subtext to elevate the highest superordinate categorization into heightened scrutiny that burgeons metacognitive limber. Marooned in the equipoise of specifiable enlightenment countermanded by the strictures of working memory we can orchestrate transverse pathways between the elemental quiddity of impetuous meaning and the dignified tropes of transitivity that bequeaths entire universes with feral progeny that modulate their ecosystems with both a taste of approximated symmetry and a cohesive enterprise for productivity that rests on the granular concordance of the highest plane to the indivisible parcels of atomic meaning that solder together to exist as intelligible if strained by the primordial frictions guaranteed by the brunt of motion incipient because of the metaphorical inertia created within insular universes to inform sprawling conurbations of mobilized thoughts designed to reckon with the breakneck pace of the corresponding reality to which they explicitly and precisely refer to.

We must singe surgically the filigrees that amount to the perceptible realities that transmute temperaments into the liturgy of routine conflated with the rigmarole of neural dragnets of reiterative quips in an elegant game of raillery with our supernal contumacy against the rigid authority of aleatory vagaries mandated by a dually arbitrary universe in a probabilistic terpsichorean dance with the depth of our dredge for subliminal acuity or the shallow bellicosity of common modes of glib contemplation characteristic of the basic nobility of improvisation. This basic interface with the world can either be mercurial or tranquil based on the interactionism of the enfeebled trudge of surface senses or blunt intuitions and the smoldering impact of the vestigial cloaks that deal gingerly with the poignant subtext evoked in the cauldron of immediacy rather than pondered with the portentous weight of imperative singularities of uniqueness derived from the plunge into the arcane citadel of microscopic introspection so refined that the ineffable drives we seek to fathom become amenable to the traipse of transcendental time that rarefies itself by defying the brunt of compartmentalized bureaucracies administered by the fulcrum of stereotypical notions of acquired gravitas imputed to mundane pedestrian quidnunc concerns that defile humanity rather than embolden the subaudition of gritty punctilios that show the supernal powers of the axiomatic divinity of sharpened sentience to reign with supremacy over the baser ignoble components of bletcherous nescience that leads to knee-**** platitudes that provoke folksy peevish divisions. We should rather orchestrate our activity by heeding the admonishment about the primogeniture of poignant sabotage buffered by the remonstration of innate tranquility and finding a whipsawed compromise of rationalization with true visceral encounters with the fulgurant quips of brisk emotions that grind industriously into amorphous retinues of the trenchant human imagination to either equip or hobble the leapfrogged interrogation of veracity and more consequently our notions of truth and fact.

When we see the hackneyed results of default ecological dynamics, we find ourselves aloof from purported transcendence because the whimpered bleats and cavils of the importunate masses result in a deafening din of cacophony because we strive throbbing with sprightliness towards the galloped chase of tantalization without the luxury of a terminus for satiation. Obviously a growth mindset is the galvanic ****** that spawns the imaginative swank of the pliable modulations of our perceived reality that, when protean, showcase the limitless verve of our primordial cacoethes for epigenetic evolution rather than the stolid and staid foreclosure of impervious sloth that memorializes the gluttony of speculation about fixed entities rather than imperative jostling urbanity that dignifies the brackish dance with dearth and the exuberant savory taste of momentary excess because it engages the animated pursuit of limerence rather than the exhumed corpse of wistful regret. Nature is a cyclical clockwork system of predatory instinct met with the clemency of the prosperous providence enacted by the travailing ingenuity of successive cumulative generativities that compounded unevenly and unpredictably to predicate a fundamental zeitgeist calculated to engorge the fattened resources of the resourceful and temper the etiolated dreams of the fringed acquiescence of a hulking prejudiced population of dutiful servants that balk at the diminutive prospects of a lopsided distribution of talent and means but slumber in irenic resolve created by the merciful hands of defensive designs that configure consciousness to relish comparative touchstones rather than absolute outcomes that straggle beyond a point of enviable reference to shield the world of the barbarism of botched laments clamoring for an uncertain grave from the gravity of the orbiting satellites of apportioned wealth both sunblind and boorish but simultaneously inextricable from the acclimated fortune of heaped nepotism and herculean opportunism. The intransigence of the weighted destiny of inequity is a squalid enterprise of primeval abrasive and combative tendencies within the bailiwick of the indignant compass inherent to the system that fathoms its deficiencies with crabwise and gingerly pause but airs a sheepish grievance like a bleat of self-exculpation but simultaneously an arraignment of fundamental attribution erroneously indicted without the selfsame reflexiveness characteristic of a transcendent being with other recourses to clamber an avenue to Broadway without malingering in the slums of opprobrious ineffectual remonstration against the arrangement of a blinkered metropolis of uneven gentrification.

We flicker sometimes between the strategic drivel of appeasement and the candor of audacious imprecation of the culprits of indignity or considerate nutritive encomium of the beacons of ameliorated enlightenment because we often masquerade a half-witted glib consciousness lazily sketched by the welters of verve alloyed with the rancid distaste of squalor and slumber on the faculty of conscientious swivels of prudential expeditions with an avarice for bountiful considered thought and wily contortions of demeanor that issue the affirmative traction of adaptive endeavor to cheat a warped system for a reconciled peace and a refined self-mastery. We need to traduce the urchins that sting the system with pangs of opprobrious ballyhoo and the effluvia of foofaraw that contaminate with pettifoggery and small-minded blather the arenas better suited for the gladiatorial combat of cockalorums tinged with a dose of intellectual effrontery beyond the span of dogmatism rather than the hackneyed platitudes that infest the news cycle with folksy backwardation catered to the fascism of a checkered established press that urges insurrection while tranquilizing dissent against the furtive actions of consequence hidden behind the draped verdure of pretense whose byproduct is only a self-referential sophistry that swarms like an intractable itch to devolve the spectator into a pasquinaded spectacle of profound human obtuseness that pervades malignantly the system of debate until the reductionists outwit themselves with the empty prevarication of circular logic that deliberately misfires to miss the target of true importance because of the pandered black hole easily evaded by creatures of high sentience but inevitably ensnaring the special kind of dupe into a cycle of bellicose ferocity of internecine balkanization. The vainglory of the omphalos of entertainment is also another reckoning because it festers a cultural mythos of glorified crapulence parading a philandered promiscuity with half-baked antics that gravitate attention and the lecheries of gaudy tenses of recycled tinsel alloyed by debased aberrations of seedy grapholagnia that magnetize as they percolate because of the insidious catchphrases embedded in pedestrian syncopation that ignite retention and acclimate to mediocrity the sounds of generations discolored by faint pasty rainbows rather than ennobled by majestic landscapes of ignipotent mellifluous sound that stands a supernal amusement still for the resourceful trainspotter.

Despite the contumely aimed in the direction of contrarians for deviating from the lockstep clockwork hustle of stooped pandered manipulation that peddles the wares of an entirely counterfeit reality, I stand obstinately against the melliferous stupefaction of entire genres of myth and subcultures huddled around the sentimental tug of factitious sophistries regaled by thick amorphous apostates that cherish the vacuous sidetracked spotlight with fervor rather than pausing on the enigmatic querulous inquisition about the penumbras that lurk with strained effort beneath or above the categorical nescience of the shadowy unknown that often coruscates with elegance even in obscurity. I fight with labored words to spawn a psychological discipline that invokes the incisive subaudition of the pluckily pricked exorcism of true insight from the husk of buzzwords that constellate auxiliary tangential distractions from the art form of psychological discernment that predicates itself on the concept that the rarefaction of rumination by degrees of microscopic precision enables the introspective hindsight of conscious events that can be parsed without the acrimony of cluttered conflations of the granular prowess of triumphant ratiocination that earns a panoramic perch with the added luxury of perspicacious insight into the atomic structure of the rudiments of our phenomenological field and the abstractions that linger beyond perceptual categorization. When we analyze the gradients of anger, for example, we can either be ****** into a brooded twinge of wistful resentment or we can decipher that through heuristics designed to cloister the provenance of subconscious repose with ignorance there exists a regimented array of tangential accessories embedded deep within the cavernous repository of memory that designates a cumulative trace of compounded symmetries of concordant experience immediately perceptible because of the tangible provocateur of our gripes and the largely subliminal tusk that protrudes because of primal instinct that squirms with peevishness because of the momentary context preceded by the desultory churn of smoldering associations swimming with either complete intangible sputtered mobility through the tract of subconscious hyperspace or rigidly fixated by an arraignment of circumstances with propinquity to the deep unfathomed flicker of bygones receding or protruding because of the warped and largely unpredictable rigmarole of constellated spreading activation.  
When we examine the largesse of the swift recourse of convenience we forget by degrees the travail that once bridged the span of experience from patient abeyance in provident pursuit to now the importunate glare of inflated expectations for immediacy that stings the whole enterprise of societal dynamics because it vitiates us with a complacency for the filigrees of momentary tinsel of a virtualized reality divorced from the concretism that used to undergird interaction and now stands outmoded as a wisp beyond outstretched hands straggling beyond the black mirror of a newfangled narcissistic clannishness that shepherds the ostentation of conceit to a predominant position that swaddles us with fretful diversion that operates on a warped logic of lurid squalor and pasty trends becoming the mainstays of a hypercritical linguistic system of entrapment based on the apostasy of candor for the propitiation of fringed aberration because of the majoritarian uproar about touchy butthurt pedantic criticasters with a penchant for persnickety structuralism. With the infestation of entertainment with the ubiquitous political cavils engineered by the ruling class to have a common arena of waggish irreverence we forget that sometimes the impetuous ****** of propaganda is cloaked by the fashionable implements of a rootless time writhing in a purported identity crisis only to gawk at the ungainly reflection of modernity in the mirror and remain blissfully unaware about the transmogrified cultural psyche that feeds the lunacy of endless spectacle based on the premise that one singular whipping post can unite an entire generation of miscegenated misfits looking for commonality to team up against the aging generations that cling to the sanctity of cherished jingoism against the intentionality of a revamped system that malingers with empty promises using exigency and legerdemain to obscure the mooncalves among their ranks that march on with quixotic dreams that tolerate only the idea of absolute tolerance and moderate only when feasibly permitted by the anchored negotiation of the fulcrum of totemic governmental responsibility between factions that wage volleys of invective at each other to promote a binary choice of vitiated compromises of mendaciloquence that ultimately endanger the republic with either the perils of hidebound conventionalism and nativist fervor or the boondoggles of fiscally irresponsible insanity cloaked with rainbows and participation trophies. Reproach can be distributed to both sides of the aisle because ironically in a world where gender is non-binary the most important reproductive ***** in the free world is a binary-by-default despotism that polarizes extremely ludic fantasies on the left met with the acrimony of the traditionalisms on the right that staunchly resist the fatuous confusions of delegated order only to the sharp rebuke of the revamped political vogue that owes its sustenance to a manufactured diplomacy of saccharine lies and ubiquitous lampoons that are lopsided in the direction of a globalist neoliberal bricolage of moderately popular buzzwords and the trojan horse of insubordinate flippant feminism that seeks to subvert through backhanded manipulation the patriarchy so many resent using lowbrow tactics and poignant case studies rather than legislating the egalitarian system into law using the proper channels. I myself am a political independent who sides with fiscal conservatism but libertarianism in most other affairs because the pettifoggery of law-and-order politics is a diatribe overused by sheltered suburbanites and red meat is often just as fatuous as blue tinsel and sadly in a majoritarian society the ushers of conformity demand corporate divestiture in favor of an ecological system of predictability rather than an opinionated welter of legitimate challenges to a broken system of backwards partisanship and wangled consent. Ultimately, I remain mostly apolitical, but I am a fervent champion of the mobilization of education to a statelier standard that demands rigor and responsibility rather than the chafe of rigmarole that understates the common objectives of humanity and rewards conventional thinking and nominal participation to earn credentialed pedigree when the bulk of talent resides elsewhere.

The ******* of embezzled glory staunchly defend their counterfeit stature by defalcating the public trust of industrious societies governed internally by compunction and sabotaged externally by the tempests of acerbic fate met with inclement aleatory convergence. To supply a society with ingenuity without being complaisant or officious with unctuous pleas to the overlords we must fashion a new vogue that taps the bustle of giants and aggrandizes the margins to oversee their own creative destinies with scaffolded arrangements of titanic promise and justifiable fluidity to conquer the blinkered dogmatism of a dissolute chastity to inveterate apocryphal tenets of factitious but unmerited perspectives. Democracy crumbles when the convenience of sensationalism supplants the resolve of those that fossick hidden wealth and promulgate validity instead of undergirding pomp with precarious prevarications of duplicitous omission guarded gingerly by the gatekeepers of a ****** sanity that whitewashes the discussion with invented hobgoblins and purblind catharsis. To defeat simplicity and enshrine byzantine elegance as the paragon for voguish commentary rather than abide by a bowdlerized decorum for appeasing simpletons with divisive balkanization through identity politics we can overcome the impediments to human progress that are engineered to persist because of the inertia of the listless and the stubbornness of doctrinaire politicization and invent vivacity and festivity anew. We need to divorce ourselves from pedestrian quibbles of hero-worship that endanger the vitality of the common discourse because of fastidious pedantic disempowerment that ravages us with debased dreams by underscoring nuisances and tolerable nightmares that emasculate the virulence of the liberated individual and subvert his ambitions to contend with a picaresque world of limitless promise and self-motivated internal wealth.
      The bane of modernity is how chary the world becomes because of fractured histories intersecting with controversial destinies and the antidote to that poisonous self-defeating self-censorship is the audacity of brazen challenges to expurgation through assiduous resourcefulness and delicate diplomacy in wrangling controversies with outspoken courage rather than whispered resentment. Temerity waged in inclement circumstance is justified and curiosity stoked by lambent flames of fulgurant individualism should be fortified to the extent necessary to conquer the feckless spoilsports of unctuous puritanism and institutional obedience. The quacksalvers that blather about inconsequence strand the imagination in a desiccated desert that is ostracized from the palettes of the artistic whim to wield efflorescence rather than squander life in pursuit of perfunctory lucre or tenuous solidarity around banal idealism promised by social justice warriors that forget the biggest war being waged on humanity is on the ingenuity of the common discourse and the liberty to opine about real issues rather than saccharine conventions of emasculation through linguistic imprisonment and epicurean slavery to fashimites who relish the buzzword but never the enlightened audience that scoffs at feeble attempts at cultural commentary like Childish Gambino’s “This is America” music video. This particular artifact is a demonstration of how childishly fickle the plebeian mentality really is, stitching together a bricolage of violence to engineer controversy and serenading it with the most banal music imaginable and exhorting people to herald it as a high artform while inundating the world with unimaginative comic book movies and Star Wars rip-offs because of the lucrative business of formulaic replication. “This is America” should be regarded as a parody of itself because of how hackneyed its design is and how cacophonous it sounds and mocks its audience with lowbrow tactics of adding tinsel to trash and marketing it as the glory of tatterdemalions rather than the refinement of true cinematic achievements that have been relegated because Warhol’s Campbells-Soup-consumerism trumps true belletrist in the public view.
        Cultural watersheds punctuate our history with salient achievements in experimentation, but the formulaic profiteering of buzzword sensationalism and yellow journalism and the ostentatious glorification of promiscuous boasting and fancy cars tantalize the mice to continue playing slot machines rather than penning a novel or doing something promethean. The world scoffs at Trump but ignores the bigger institutional caveats that endanger us much more than a pragmatic albeit unconventional pontificator who is complicit in constructing a false narrative to enslave mindless people to fret about eminence rather than delight themselves in the consequential nuances of established refinement that used to serenade the world with flourish and spectacle. The world kowtows to the crusade against flavor-of-the-week enemies of the liberal-conservative syncretism because it has been conditioned to believe that synthesis is the only logical solution for the polarized worldviews of churlish people that become parvenus not on their merits but on their marketable pitfalls and their public foibles. Peccadillos are more important to people than virtues and this makes society morally bankrupt if we loiter around Astroturf causes that have been infiltrated by corporatism and venal debauchery and acquiesce as disempowered gossip hounds that hunt in packs to find jest in aberration rather than achievement in self-created narratives that defy the stupid purblind boorishness of the mainstream media and its haughty liberalism or the persnickety condemnation of priggish conservative moralities that had an expiration date 50 years ago. Who the **** cares about transgender-touting-gender-fluidity quidnuncs and the snooty obsession with lurid personal endeavors of reputable people that made minor ****** transgressions in a world policed by wide-eyed feminazis that seek to ransack men of their vital virulence to spotlight their unjustifiable oppression. Women are oppressed but the carnal nature of their calumniation and their vindictive powers of persuasion are deployed with such vehement vigilance and such distaste for the majority that the world relegates itself to quibbles of celebrities rather than substantive issues. There is a systemic feminization of society occurring that seeks to demarcate despotic uxorious pleasantries as an incarceration of vocal dissent against supercilious women and their tamed men that slavishly grovel in repudiation of anything prickly.  Men historically have oppressed women but the solution to this quandary isn’t a reverse discrimination where the minority concern is spotlighted as a majoritarian issue that overshadows the disproportionate nature of our society where nominal accreditation is afforded in a non-meritocratic way to absolve people of their carnality and demote the vigorous defense of human liberty as secondary to compromise solutions that appease more people than they offend but simultaneously result in suboptimal conditions that reward arbitrarily coachable people while jettisoning anyone witty enough to be capable of insubordination of a hedonistic epicurean world obsessed with appearance and ravaged by the decadence of formulaic profiteering at the expense of originality and true promethean art that is herculean enough to defy hackneyed tropes and siphon the best elements from a piecemeal world variegated with complexity but stifled by fomented hatred.
The solutions to these problems is to create a watchdog group of artistic critics who become eminent and ubiquitously heard enough to offer creative consultation to the artistic endeavors that we consume and the music that is curated for fastidious ears that crave euphonic originality rather than the banality of easily dovetailed bass-heavy cookie-cutter garbage and the gaudy tactics of talentless rappers whose swagger derives from  the intersection of opportunism and the divestiture of an industry that rewards gloated supercilious epicureanism and meretricious marketability. Am I the only one jaded by second-rate superhero movies that infest the cinemas that borrow from Michael Bay while thrusting pulse-pounding but narratively bankrupt movies down the throats of consumers that might prize the cinematic originality of the heyday of filmmaking? Is it always high art to invent controversy that is witless or half-witted just because it will create buzz? Shouldn’t we condemn the laziness of society in acquiescing to the penury of the modern cultural narrative which belabors the dead horses of racism and sexism ad nauseum? Shouldn’t we fight the war of against inequity through legislation rather than hibernating about scandalous eminence and testy malfeasance?
          Liberty should be championed above all else and we are turning our backs on the future unless we muster the resolve to diminish the sway of the common narrative and aim our spotlight at consequential endeavors rather than the tropes of prosaic and pedestrian bastardization of art and culture. We need to fight artistic laziness which has ravaged our culture and castigate the tactics of wannabee celebrities that use lurid tactics to attract an audience by bedizening themselves with Pyrrhic ostentations and rampant fakery to create more melodrama in a world that needs to be less histrionic. YouTube celebrities swarm us as they get high on ******* and lean-- at our expense-- and vandalize property and convincing nine-year-old’s like Lil Tay to flex her money like it is infinitely renewable in a finite world where all our attention is wasted on artless artifice of less talented people that know how to engineer a ruckus by strutting themselves beyond all decency and selling out to a corporatist nightmare of enslaved convenience. We need to be more vocal about the dissolution of artistic merit and the formulaic repetition of successful formulas that jade us and make us yawn about another retread of a previously successful idea that is milked to the point of cruelty.                                                         ­                       
       Let’s change the narrative and focus on creating true art rather than reacting to the meretricious tinsel of the vogue consensus which is so impotent in its ability to rivet audiences because it has become so notoriously lazy. Fight laziness in art, dismiss your news feeds, be resourceful, seek true happiness rather than find yourself hoodwinked and duped by the idea that Trump is the most important issue or getting caught in thought loops and brooding about sexism and inequality. Let us strive to be egalitarian but within limits that would also appease hominists rather than just the hypertrophy of the leftist narrative that seeks to cage us with the doublespeak of complaisant conformity.  Reject the unctuous charlatans that pretend priggishness when their banausic purpose is barbaric but beguiling to be a lullaby for laggards. We need to fight for the future of civilization rather than hobnob with convenience and loiter around decrying false perpetrators rather than systemic injustices that could otherwise be rectified if enough people fought for it. We can invent a future that is a great festivity serenaded by cultivated artistic refinement and forget about the trifles that divide us. United in ambition and fueled by ingenuity we can defeat artistic laziness and be resourceful with how we decide what is newsworthy. Spurred by the argosy of proactive motivation we can change the world in a substantial way by deciphering the subtext that governs the world. The subtext is everything!

Whining dog...we just went outside.
Wading through internet DATs and cogs and bandwidth hogs, outside still raining cats and dogs.
double-click trawling pics and blogs searching for remedies and laws that inhibit logs to saw.
Wide-eyed, face down I sprawl still awake, redefining  my character flaws,
fearing my falling into the trappings of urban sprawl or
investing your mind then hitting the wall.
Lose or draw,
a new artistic affair or creative outlet dares you daily to fall.
"Late" is now "Early"
Dawn's illuminating looming, night to be soon consumed.
Insomnia vacuums,
drama typhoons,
crooning tunes....
It'll be June soon.
Feeling marooned waiting for the opportune...well, I'm still waiting,
Whining dog...we just went outside...Fine!
Rain drains backlogged in the AM black...****** dog. Decide! He takes his time.
Three nights of showers,
cowering under this street corner lighted power tower,
unrequited efforts to stay dry.
Moon still high, clouded bright behind the wetness...
Wait, what if I see "her"?
Should I dare bare my soul, take control, or say simply "Hello?" just to know?
Do I want to know "yes" or "no"?
Grandmother always said "The truth is the most powerful force you'll ever face, trace, disgrace or embrace"
I remember my last pursuance of the truth.
You remember college...
The ubiquitous responsibility of apologies for the skewed knowledge sleuth colleges preclude.
A four, no five year matterless smattering reviewing the hows, whys and whos who of Impressionist imbued hues;
the politics of subdued Katmandu coups,
Homer's muses; many a Siren sank the boats I crewed;
news crews that flew the bird flu news coop and recouped,
skewed suing over Golden Arch morning brew,
tragedies, sonnets, and nothing adieus,
spewed formulas and equations notecard ques,
standing in long line registration cues every time we change Major views,
all fueled by a boozing, smokey ballyhoo of Tullamore Dew, hopped brews, tattoos, crude food, music muses and quoted virtues.
What’s even true and what would you do if you knew, ****** logic class…
And alas, you're through! “Here’s your paper, now choose.”
The ****** inequity of iniquity dams me so I can't break free.
Such an abrupt disruption could erupt great corruption,
the self-destruction is tempting, but doesn't pay rent.
Not today, but maybe soon.
June's coming...dryer and higher noon.

R.Craig David- copyright 2008
Redux Edition April 1st, 2013
Inspired by rain, blame shame, the game and a cute girl just 3 doors down that still remains a stranger in my old college town.

A naked angel
and an ***** fiend
place bets on how
all this silliness will end      
not that either
really has anything
to wager with.

1.

dear feminism,
do i think of women
when i write to you?

why do i personify?

angry at an unjust world,
angry at injustice in ourselves,
have i been taught to fear you?
ignore inequity of fears?

or hide  
in the shadows of your salty curves
speaking soft with sycophantic tilt?

was this what mother meant,
portending talk of therapy
two decades in advance?

a bouy on three waves,
i crash against protuberances too:
limp didactics on avoidance for the victims,
waking in continuums of shrugging crime.

sameness differs in utopias --
every latent gut avers the right to spill.
despite the lissome quell forgetfulness contains,
my proper sphere will leave me
deafened in a wrack-dry
tidal echo--
'Fairness' stains clear beauty dark
as my imagined egos drown at last
from down our oceanic well of shame.

sacrifices fade,
i cannot write...
i write, and fail,
defined by sediment cliche,
reading women authors out of obligation ..odd desire,
and so in dim medieval-fashion
miss
the trail of monoliths erected
for a craven ease

2.

dear civil rights,
why were you taught
through prisms of boredom?
my voiceless reading left you to your rage,
while i communed with glossy nature,
private leaves.

how dare i clap your back
"congratulations"
at your tidy givens  granted
scars were open past my seeing,
and bleed still

while right here, empathy dies, now

dreams are bombed,
grafted to infected faculties
to wallow tended in a garden of injustice
erudite and dead,
i **** a bit i tell myself then stuff my face with food,
cover breath with smoke
and sleep in sour ignorance
no courage left to care.
blind grins bouquet the status quo
of rotted stems, discarded roots

i bury you with homeland fear
the killing silence filled with just intentions
for tomorrow

3.

dear feminism,
you speak for me, too--
my genderless ear attunes

cathartic sweep of ills
scaled beyond your other selves,
sexing into common chosen songs

no fearful tremble
at a mainstream backdrop reprimand--
to be a good gender,
--this gender not that gender--
gestate bigotry of symbol wombs,
cut ripe to cater to unquestioned whim;
no violent selfhood requisitioning
to closet inner innocence in pain

contractions shock in further waves
i midwife simple hope i hope
true fairness you have nursed in seeing death


4.

dear punk **** feminism,
marginal i ask as i perform
unstructured sutras on my heart
exemplar of a meta-freedom
burning in the core of threaded ages strung--
how then life without your voice,
vast silence unobserved,
the hidden anti-*** persisting
in our gender-theory--theorizing sterile norms--
sweet pulsing concupiscence
in our every waking breath
a pollinating zephyr tease toward
celebrating every feotal bathtub bliss --
unbridled ideologies unleashed
unmade into opining din

5.

dear temperance,
i vote you cherished
whirlwind
singing endless through the ageist ridicule
apparent failure in the civil warrior's eye
dogma blinks
denial of the rights you suffered for
but underneath compassion all along
i rally in your family's younger gaze
staring down,
questioning the steady rhythm of a whiskied fist

6.

dear feminism,
have i been taught to celebrate you?
have i been taught to fear for you?
have i been taught to treat you as a woman?
why do i personify you?
like some Sophia cybered up atop the forums of our age

blind and failing
i would be dust as well
like any rightful fading into dust
be swept along with all coercive screenings,
fear-born silences
immune to reason and the reasons of the heart--
rather than to live forgetting
letting go the questions giving rise to equals in a discourse
revising what it means to ask the meaning of


#
dear feminism,

when you are gone..
i for one will sing you
hope

to protest bigotry
a raging tranquil step
of care-filled voicing

dare an upward sloping arc
a dream becoming shared
to overcome
attain
inspired by once unfamiliar names

i will still be here,
the angry feminist
burning in my flagging underwear

brightest outrage at injustice
your deeper loves, fairness
selfhood honored
as if written in the stars
or ancient shorelines
-- you will not be gone

For quite a while you've been questioning my understanding of how things have come to be.
You've been wondering why my so-called love is not prospering and you don't lie when you say you've tried everything. So you keep coming back like a new-born baby dying for love from daddy.

It appears to me
That your insecurities and flaws are all results of my wrongs but I'd never admit to being the one at fault if it had to cost me kneeling down on the floor and confessing that the minute I walked out on you, my whole life went on pause.

And even though I was crowded by many, I felt discomfort in the midsts of applause. My lust for popularity gain had strangled me up again the wall and I was left with no one to call.

See, after the last time you saw me I took matters into my hands and asked the devil for a dance because he seemed like the latest trend but the second he swept me off my feet and removed my blindness to see, I had my conscience open to a Towela severely broken.

It had been a while since we had spoken so I didn't know whether to reach out or stay speechless. Because the sight of the broken you took my breath away and hardly in the good way because I felt guilty. Tell me, how else was I going to be able to swallow my inequity rather than practising ignorance?

My soul is filthy and reeking of deeds I rushed into without thinking. I attempted wishful thinking. I pushed you out of the way and tried going on dates with darkness and she introduced me to wicked play. But Towela, don't hate the player, hate the game.

I'm sorry for not being able to be sorry. For depicting the direction of your life story and forcing you to cope with such deviation.

Last night, in a dream I saw you. And this time you looked amazing. Your once teary eyes had healed and there was no sign of what had once been. For the period of 11 years I lived with you, I had never seen you smile the way you did with the One who was with You. I'm not love but I can tell what He has for you is real. I reached out my hand because I envied what He was doing to your heart - renewing it and teaching it how to love.

And so I wept. I wept because I would've wanted to be who He was to you and do the responsibility He gave me to You. As I speak to you, I'm in this state of regret-filled thoughts like "I could've, I should've, I would've."

We've switched lanes. You have fulfilment and satisfaction while I suffer from immense pain. You may think I'm insane but trust me when I say I know that for the first time, you're secure Towela, you're safe.

On that note, there's another confession I'd like to make. The so-called love I supplied with you all these years was fake. You were so caught up in my game that You never thought to seek God's face so by default, I always won. No one would blame you if you began to call me a con.

The One you're with is love and in him there is no wrong. So you can sit back and relax because in Him, there are no traces of insecurity or inequity - there is no sin. There is no heart that bleeds or soul that roams aimlessly hurting and seeking for love from anything worldly.

But wait, I just caught sight of Him embrace you. And half a smile was what I could offer at this view. He took up my responsibility, paid whatever debts I had been owing you, destroyed the one who tried destroying you and resurrected your life so it could be brand new.

And if I gained permission to see Him, I'd tell Him 'Thank You I've seen the way she's happy whenever she's with You and I know that without You, my daughter would have been gone before her time was due.'

Rue the unlettered nugatory inequity
of insensate dishabille narcosis and
the insouciant clandestine ravish
perverse of durance's constraint.

AUSTRALIAS CODE GREY IS A HUMAN RIGHTS VIOLATION.
MENTAL HEALTH ARE RAPISTS. PUT AN END TO FORCED INJECTIONS
AND THE UNCONSCIOUS UNCONSENTING SEXPLOITATION OF THE MENTALLY ILL!!!!.
NO FUNDING FOR MENTAL HEALTH AND THEIR ****** REGIME!!!
MENTAL HEALTH LAWS ARE MENTALLY ILL!!!
''the pride of women will never be laid in the dust"- Gaelic Proverb.
MENTAL HEALTH ARE RAPISTS. LYING ******* ****** DOGS!!!
SAY NO TO BUTTOCKS INJECTIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!­!

Some days it's hard to write for you, because i  know you woke up in a mood, the mood that tells the world to *******. Some days, i want you to remember the hand you are holding is mine, though you might look at me like i cut your throat. I lay down in the bed you made and fall asleep in the marks that you made in the night, when you carried out the fight, you have in your, head. Demons and witches have hunted this bed, I came in and beckoned you from the dark and opened the windows to your heart, and away they fled. You were just a boy, you were just a boy. It's not you, it's not you, who you grew, who grew you up.

I tied lashings of hurricanes to my heart to beg you stay and as i begged you to depart. I watched as you played your six string guitar, the one that blew my storm and made me weak, i begged of you, to open your mouth, and let me hear you speak. I watched you filter your coffee, I watched you burn your toast, i watch you filter the day before you, and i become a ghost. I am the one to which you belong, and that is why, i am here in this way, this is why i try to sing you this song; This smile is for you, and i might be a dreamer, but my eyes dream of you, and everything i have run from, well i was running to you. Who am i? Well i am just a fool.

I kiss you in my sleep, i drag you from the house and into the sun. I look up at you with a hand that shadows my face, 'look at the world baby, just take a taste' then i watch you sip ***** like it was mothers milk, and i watch as your words turn from torn metal to chinese silk. Words i have begged to hear, that you have not been here before and you were scared, because it was new land, i was alien but yours and how you have rolled up on my shore, ready to start again. I waltz in your kitchen and i dance a merry jig, because my smile is for you, and i am killing your pain, i am killing your shame. I want you to know guilt is not the right word for what you feel. Brazen though i may be, my churlish ways are dragging you from that bed, to tell you, this is new, this something for you to shake off and realise, you are no longer bruised.

Words burn my lips in a language i cannot speak. I am misfire from a gun you hold, my blast is off centre, strong and weak. And you are made of fire and bone, your heart is engaged in battle between barbed wire and stone; still it beats in your cavernous chest, beneath the heartfelt cotton of a wifebeater vest. And I will hold you, my love, with your head against my back, breast and cheek, i'll kiss your scars and still call you beautiful, and **** your strength as you try not to weep. I will kiss you in places you keep well hidden from those who probe and seek, i will encompass those places with my arms, i will defend, to show you how perfect you are to me.

Sometimes, somedays we are stuck in the places we're meant to be, sometimes we have to be truly blind to be free. When you are deaf, and i am dumb what of our language? What will our love become. For you are a definitive statement left in the black side of death, and we're both lost and silence is the only sense that you've got left. My darling go **** your thumb, please my father and your mother will come, see you. I will strum your six string guitar and sit in your place, i will make my mark in your ****** bed. I will let you put your fingers through my head, if that is what you need, my love. I got hope and i got love, and i got some ******' strength from the universe above, and this is what will pull us through this mess, this maze of inequity of love, lust and a death parade.

Come and sit with me in the shade, i have had enough of the sun, come sit with me, lay down your gun. I no longer know how to speak, so when you dream of me believe in me whenever you are weak, for have hope my love that one day i will have the words to help set you free in this land of vultures and heat seeking words. Do not be alone my one, do not feel frightened at my sight, for i am here for you, to cradle those bad memories and send them on their way and in to the night.

With querulous turpitude, I stood
Disdainful denied reassurance;
Selfless. My crying heart
The echo of the wind rebuking
All that is remaining of
what I used to be.
Grotesque deformities my reflection
The pain of pure love etched
In dreams of aeons passed.
Hideous beauty a frightening peace
A sweetness I founded corrupt;
Hell my heaven
My paradise.
Honesty a musical once
writhing in my breast
A seraph convoking legions,
Now wings out-stretched
I break my own treacherous heart
A fiend of Heaven a demon of Hell
The first fallen
Unto likeness absolved
The pennated breadth of twilight
Breeding familiarities contempt-
I have wearied myself, O God,
And I am consumed,
Resolute of inequity.
He that is down need not fear plucking,
Experience is the teacher of fools
And a gentle lie turneth away inquiry:
If the mountain will not go to Mahomet,
Mahomet must go to the mountain;
The nakedly wan mantic
Velleity to tear Christ's body
Malapert, before the ruddy shoal;
Society covers a multitude of sins
Within the penitent sanctity of
Heaven's holocaust, in which
No man can serve two masters-
Oh that I had wings like a dove!
I would fly away and be at rest
Eternal and absolute,
An angelic image of my shadowed self!.

ELEETE J MUIR

Myanmar

Half a million people thrown out of their country
the silence of our guilt is the weight of shadows
when we unforgiven do nothing to help the people.
To defend them with UN troops, or for that matter
give NATO, a none political role, to stop this inequity.
Myanmar is so far from Europe and the Rohingya
people so primitive and they have no famous writers.
We know nothing of their music, the weight of our
silence is darker than the night.

Merry Christmas, the voice greets me
humbug I mutter under breath
greed hatred jealousy
only things you live with.

Keep to yourself your mirth
I sullenly brood
such lies are too heavy for this earth
done this place no good.

Relations under cloud of doubt
each soul bears a grievous injury
merriment had long gone out
the greet is just empty.

It's a pity you still find it merry
with all the injustice inequity
men classified quartered
children for food bartered.

Merry doesn't the word stink
while some choose what to drink
fuss about the flavor to savor
many reach it by miles' labor.

Merry can't hide away the glum
of human habitats in dingy slums
strewn on pavements under open sky
breathing refuses left to die.

Still, Merry Christmas to you, says the voice
the time is to give and rejoice
the world though truly is what you say
haven’t You, I, We, made it that way?

Mine heart's been hardened by all the inequity and injustices suffered by it over time

I am in no position to be of any relevan(t assistan)ce at the moment

Let me strive to alter the workings of my mind and the condition of mine heart

Only then would any one benefit from the workings of mine heart and hands

America
Land of the free
Home of the brave
but don’t forget the clinically insane
because they’re here too
Making different people black and blue
especially the ones of a different race
What is freedom if it comes with a price
the price of too many lives
lives cut short by the bitter bite of a bullet
piercing through years
resulting in more fears
causing more tears
tears of families
and friends
watching their loved ones life come to an end
thats not even the worst
no justice is being served
to those who got the last word
words shooting from a gun
words denied in court
inequity for those whose lives were cut short
people like Renisha McBride
feel like they now have to hide
from people like Theodore Wafer
who refused to be safer
lack of understanding that Renisha was hurt
and she wanted help
but you ended her life with a yelp
as she knocked on your door
she had no idea she wouldn’t live anymore
gun to her face
you sent a message out to her race
that she went to seek help in the wrong place
telling those like her they don’t belong
in the human race
sadly is isn’t the only case
Jordan Davis
who was not even on a first name basis
with
Michael Dunn
shot nine times
even though he had committed any crimes
nine
times
Trayvon Martin
whose life ended
at the end of a gun
in the hands of the one
who took the “law” onto himself
obvious patterns show
this was no accident
although
he was
acquitted
and he got his gun back
permitted
information was not told
omitted
Zimmerman got refitted
and Martin shot dead
because something was off in someone else’s head
sent to his dead bed
the truth never said
Zimmerman fled
and how are those like him
suppose to move ahead
guns hiding in every direction
ailing like an infections
running from their own reflection
and I have an objection
because this is not the act of natural selection
and it’s sad people of different color still need specialized
protection
because apparently
pulling out a wallet
justifies being shot
41 times
not
but it does for the NYPD officers
and for a South American immigrant
Amadou Diallo (Jallo)
only 23
died callow
shot by four men
so shallow
4 guns
19 hits
41 shots
Bang
dead
----
How can this country preach
that we not only have freedom
but freedom of speech
but as soon as Bruce opened his mouth
and let the truth come out
and talked about
the truth behind
41 shots
he was “un-American”
he was a “flying ***”
it’s sad
we treat other human beings
as animals
and we claim to be equal
but there are people here who are still evil
and law officers who are deceitful
and last I checked ******
is illegal
and you are allowing upheaval
A mother should not be afraid to sent her son
out to get groceries in fear
that he may never come back
So don’t tell me
America
is equal

Born in sin but shaped in inequity all rights are endowed by your creator.

So who's your GOD ?

is it a man,
A spirit,
Or some numbered paper?

I'm tired of being told what to believe in, and what matters in life. Constant bombardment of stimuli, telling me what makes an artist, what good art is, who to elect, what to wear, what cause to take up. I already have my 20/20 vision, had it checked, verified, took it beyond the threshold and came back sans t-shirt. I don't need someone giving me the play by play 24/7 when I can already see this world, unfiltered and pure as it is.  I could mystify this sentiment further by adding in abstractions and platitudes signifying nothing, but I don't feel the need for my catharsis to waste anyone's time. You don't need me giving you advice anymore than I need advice or commentary.  I don't need backseat drivers or neologistic buzzwords and fortune cookie wisdom shoved down my throat to taste comprehension.  I know what I want. I'm not ashamed of that.  I grew up knowing only self doubt, and it would appear the Millennial M.O. is to float through life praising the "art" of self doubt. As if it is something worthy of praise to be crushed externally and internally, instead of working towards bolstering from within.  With the chaos of the modern era, systemic inequity, and politics as a fashion statement, I keep my inclinations for the most part buried until my voice reaches beyond masturbatory passive aggressive self aggrandizement.  It is hip to give a ****. But that's the problem.  Giving a **** has been reduced to a fashion statement, it's how we decide who we let in, who we talk to, who we ****, who we praise. If you keep up the right front you can make superficial fair-weather friends do for you.  Therein lies an acquiescence to societal woes and whims that counter-cultural kids always know exists in the back of their minds with a beleaguered smirk and a reminder to themselves that they're really just playing the part as they clock in to their jobs and message their friends about anarchy.  It's all a big game, depending on who you are determining what kind of game it is. Some people play the lottery and leave their existence up to chance because it's all they know.  Some people play a mean game of poker and act like they've got enough ability to bluff their way through this knowing they've got nothing stacked.   My game is chess.  I don't tell anyone what moves I'm planning, but I'm five moves ahead and I'm aiming to topple ****. I have to, it's the only thing that drives me, keeps me motivated. Self doubt is praised as a tool to spur on growth.  I don't need to doubt myself in order to grow, I have had enough people doing that for me.  Until I reach a precipice, until I have unmade myself and pushed beyond what anyone, (myself included) deems me capable of, I am an unreliable narrator, and my voice will carry no weight.

Throughout my whole life I was taught not to feel
Discouraging put downs had first spun this wheel
Later the numbness extended to violence
Inequity towards me was stuffed until silenced
This armor had left me with no wounds to heal

This type of existence proved no way to live
My walls were torn down by my wife and my kids
Sensing such weakness and seeking to profit
She sunk the knife deep into me and she lost it
With shoves from my daughter to anguish I slid.

A child gets the access to do the most damage
Her taking advantage of weakness was savage
The lies and deceiving had gone on for years
Once I could see that it brought me to tears
This wound that she made will take so long to bandage

Merry Christmas, the voice greets me
humbug I mutter under breath
greed hatred jealousy
only things you live with.

Keep to yourself your mirth
I sullenly brood
such lies are too heavy for this earth
done this place no good.

Relations under cloud of doubt
each soul bears a grievous injury
merriment had long gone out
the greet is just empty.

It's a pity you still find it merry
with all the injustice inequity
man classified quartered
children for food bartered.

Merry doesn't the word stink
while some choose what to drink
fuss about the flavor to savor
many reach it by thirsty miles' labor.

Merry can't hide away the glum
of human habitats in dingy slums
strewn on pavements under open sky
breathing refuses left to rot and die.

Still, Merry Christmas to you*, says the voice
the time is to give and rejoice
the world though is truly what you say
You, I, We, have made it that way.

raining magpie madness,
   darkly drenching the
       marrow of vital spirit,
thieving in night's anticipation
clawing eye's conscious thunder,
     lashing 'pon tainted yearnings
plucking rendered heartstrings
       engaged of looming silences,
  submerged in doused inequity
      of blackened skies ambiguity

the fringe dwellers
those forgotten people
those who society
cares little for

the slums of the city
the shanty towns
the suburban blocks
are where they are found

no jobs
no money
no future prospects
this is their way of life
and ever will it be  so...

the rich denying them a piece of the wealth pie
the fringe  dwellers have  not a good cast of the dice
they'll be kept in disadvantage by the monied few
a sparsity of cash yet they make do

our society isn't even of hand
a divide in social class seems to stand
twill  there be a bridge of the inequity
which so blatantly pervades our society

Seeing the fall
eye of the storm
I see
I feel
I looked
I sought
I searched for the end
And found what I lost
What humanity said
Humanity Is dead
A shallow world
Covered in blood
Colored in red
Running horses
Only see what ahead
I dare you To step back
And Dont react
As you look through the blinds
Peek through the cracks
you'll hear the screams
And the shouts
hands trying to cover the mouth
The poor
Endured
 demons hide
behind your door
That you ignore
As you soar
higher
The line of inequity
Rises
As you desire
Sets a fire
You're all liars
Take my Hand
I'll shatter
Your eyes
see the lies
You tell yourself at night
As children fight
To stay alive
You take life
With ignorance
You'll pay
karma will humble your oblivious arrogance
Just you wait
Justice is vengance
a transition to Renaissance
Please Guide us to heaven
Or lead us down the well
The hell we bought
And the soul that we sell
Paved in these stones
Darkness is the sentence
See the connections
Look closely
And you find my words far...
From irrevelent

one is in a constant state of reinvention,
molting,
feathers in cascade,
barely hiding ****** and birthmark,
no such garment exists.

one is constantly healing itself.
save for other days,
when direct sun poses no more threat.

eyes fixed to a middle distance,
where one sits shiva,
avoiding the partial gaze of mirrors,
windows through which one may edit,
very slowly, to draw out its best features,
ignoring  revulsion and inequity found throughout.

one lives each day worth half of its potential,
other halves wasted,
excess fruit flesh clinging to rind.

one faces itself,
and sees not oneself,
but the ones that entered, paused in unity, and left,

one should not see exits where there are none.

I’ve once heard musings**
Of recitation reflecting an area
Of negligence that should
Never go forsaken.
Now, it is through my dismay
Which triggers my optimism
To lead me to believe this
Recapitulation has been
Extricated through a
Satirical voice.
However, in the event
That theses musings are
In fact, coming from
A discernible veracity,
Then I have done to you
The gravest disservice I would never
Dream to impart.
Allow this to act as my
Expression of regret
In this particular field
Of verbal lavishing.
Before the moment
You were my salacious secret
And preliminary to my yearning
For parallel mutual devotion
My capabilities of a
Tactile sense of normality
Were fleeting
Forever consigned to oblivion
Until the moment I
Allowed the craving to coalesce
With the collective.
It was then that I realized
The stimulus of my exuberance
Was not a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Rather, one brought on
When we lay entwined
Within one another.
Further musings have been vocalized,
Drawing sight upon the fact
I am twenty-one grams lighter
Than the commune.
Albeit, these musings have
Been satirical in merit,
The inherent truth
Is not controvertible.
Thus was the preceding case
To our amalgamation.
You are the sole vindication
I have a soul.

If there has ever
Been inequity
In my necessity to
Opulent you with
My own verbal musings
I do hope this
Can act as verbatim
If there should be
Any negligence within
This particular field of
Expertise.

It’s that rough patch, not to be confused with that soft grass. Where its greener on the other side they say. So I put that clichéd line on replay, as my mind wonders away from its looped track and I find my soul drawn to this one rough patch. The one where the rain forgot to fall, though my depression looms like clouds ready to burst at its red taped seems. Ready to break free and quench the forsaken dreams, of those entangled in its constricting theme and the lack of what should motivate them to break free from this quilted piece of the so called American Dream. But this feathered ideology has just as much rooted truth as the forsaken grass. Ripped from the ground and held up by the masses, YOU think this drought will force the skies to fall to its knees and weep? You think my rain dance of soft spoken discipline and firm handed compassion is enough for Noah to build the ark? Send them in two by two with their quilted grass and torn seams. Bound in red tape, tax payer hate, and a world on their shoulders that’s now forced to their plates. Where chipped out bricks and clothes with rips meet the checkered grasses and one way trips down potholed streets. Where ‘broke’ is the culture, ‘cracked’ is the future, and ‘shattered’ is a person’s understanding of their purpose. Built on burnt out grass, rusted out fences, and busted out dreams. Of NBA stardom and NFL leagues. Only to be replaced with NBA sneakers and NFL ****. But that grass is green, don’t get me wrong. There’s that other side that we all try to focus on. Where positivity pushes mowers and helps plant seed, were people are built up like stalks using Jacks magic beans. Only to face the giants of our new reality, as these 12 year old doors close with a bells final ring. Forced in the world full of giant inequity, but that nice summer breeze always put me at easy. As I tie up the silver lining of my last pair of torn up jeans. Squinting from the light reflecting off these sky scrapping beams, of that ‘pulled up by my own boot straps’ ideology. That keeps on ripping up grass in the place of their concreted schemes. A foundation built on an inherited legacy of rolled up cotton sleeves. Only to be replaces with shiny new cuffs, Italian fitted fiends, and a lack a communal understanding. For those without an equitable ground to plant their dirt stained feet. Whose souls lack the foundation of an inherited concrete. Whose footsteps find only patches with the occasional green grass, stemming from the rain’s 7-3 schedule that never seems to last. Void of enough time for their neglected patches to be sown, for their budding grasses to be grown, and misguided shoes to be souled. But the inherited rain continues to fall and some grasses remain green, enough to keep the majority screened to this water tower of inequality. Or at least content as their grasses get wet, cultivated by willful ignorance and an acquired colorblind sense. A sense of understanding as we judge our lawns the same. Remembering our own discoloration as our colorblind eyes takes aim. To pelt our vibrant lawn with the care it so desperately needs, making sure to fill in the spots where our grasses meet our weeds. Forgetting that our feet once stood in a plot of browned out patches, as we stand within the greener side not to be confused with the softer grasses.

while barnsey
cried like a refugee
i ate like one this week
a statement of support
for those not as lucky
about the lottery
of this global inequity
a little lesson for me
well fed and free
in knowing food
in knowing gratitude
in knowing hunger
in knowing anger
in knowing want
and saying don't
dismiss humanity
not as free
a glimpse for me
a little empathy
for life as refugee

Thank You Lord
For Your righteousness
I sing about Your Name
The Lord Most High

I am pregnant with evil
Conceived by trouble
Giving birth to deceit
I have dug a pit
Hollowed it out
I have fallen
Into the hole I dug
My trouble comes back
And my violence falls
On my head

In my failure to repent
God has sharpened His sword
And strung His bow
Made them ready
His deadly weapons have been prepared
His arrows tipped with fire

Let the evil of my wickedness come to its end
Establish my righteousness
He examines my heart and soul
He is a righteous God
My shield is with Him
He saves the purity of my heart
He is a righteous judge
Executing justice daily

In His anger He rises up
Lifting Himself against the fury
Of my soul
Awakening for me
Declaring judgment on me
A mass of people gather around Him
He takes His seat High over it
He judges me
Vindicates me
By my righteousness and integrity
(By my inequity and infidelity)

My God
Because I have done this
There is injustice on my hands
I have done harm
To one at peace with me
I have plundered my adversary
Without cause
My enemies shall pursue me
They shall overtake me
They will trample me
Leaving my honor in the dust

I seek refuge in You
My God
Save me from my pursuers
Rescue me
They tear at me like lions
Ripping me apart
And no one rescues me

In my heart,
a road travelled, enough,
but still overgrown and walked
in pensive  solitude
leads
to a green field of stones
that looks out over white chopped seas

To here I come when my soul is
perplexed beyond belief
when my heart is torn and bruised

This is my field of ragecand grief
where I stand and howl at injustice
beat my breast at lifes inequity
and weep slow salted tears of regret

Today again I come to my field of fallen friends
and etch your name ernesto,
the ded poet, who lived a thousand lives

And I rage and rampage, and set war in my heart
against the gods who took this voice,
this warrior this talent....friend.... and father.

But all is sound and fury set to the wind
to be dispersed as froth and rain...

As my soul quiets, my tear fall softly,
thinking on your moons, your love,
for them, and you love for your life...

Too soon, for you to go...
but the words, you have given them
and us, as well are jewels, cut and faceted
treasures for the darkest of nights.

( Song )

Every culture of the world, they speak of,
Tell the tale of a great flood,
I feel the weather is changing, pouring hot
And getting ready to spill.
    I don't know what it was like before,
    'think now is like before the flood.

And so I welcome the rain from the sky,
It is only the tears of the earth,
As a young woman who cries,
Showing beauty along with the hurt,
In future days woes of our lives,
Will be cleansed by the tears of the earth.

I read the story of Noah and his ark,
'say that he was a righteous man,
I look for truth but I can't see clear it's dark,
And all the animals are scarce.
    I feel the end of an age is come,
    Inequity is the day, O Lord!

And so I welcome the rain from the sky,
It is only the tears of the earth,
As a young woman who cries,
Showing beauty along with the hurt,
In future days woes of our lives,
Will be cleansed by the tears of the earth.

( song )*

Every culture of the world, they speak of,
Tell the tale of a great flood,
I feel the weather is changing, pouring hot
And getting ready to spill.
    I don't know what it was like before,
    'think now is like before the flood.

And so I welcome the rain from the sky,
It is only the tears of the earth,
As a young woman who cries,
Showing beauty along with the hurt,
In future days woes of our lives,
Will be cleansed by the tears of the earth.

I read the story of Noah and his ark,
'say that he was a righteous man,
I look for truth but I can't see clear it's dark,
And all the animals are scarce.
    I feel the end of an age is come,
    Inequity is the day, O Lord!

And so I welcome the rain from the sky,
It is only the tears of the earth,
As a young woman who cries,
Showing beauty along with the hurt,
In future days woes of our lives,
Will be cleansed by the tears of the earth.

Today that disc of life, when in the east it rose
I found it a little more ominous, its end a little too close.
You don’t seem to mind it, maybe you don’t at all care
The object that makes your day, won’t be forever there.
Today it lends a friendly halo, shines bright on your homely turf
It won’t be like this for all the time, when it turns a white dwarf.
You find it nothing worrisome, too faraway to be any omen
That it is silently wearying itself out, burning up its hydrogen.
The blinding luminous ball, at which your eyes can’t gaze
Has still billions years to bow out, and halfway through its phase.
So what’s there to worry, the end is too longtime yet
Generations will come and go, before reaching destiny’s date.
But still the issue is something that deserves a serious plan
It involves a grave consequence, for the future of human clan.
Where will be our habitat, when dies our star of stars
When earth becomes inhabitable, will our abode be Mars?
For it will be billion years more the fireball will hold there out
Of all the planets the best bet, is our brethren Mars no doubt.
So maybe before our star burns out, we seek out another shore
Colonize the red planet in the sky, also called the planet IV.
An entire civilization will shift there, an enormous migration
Carrying with them love and hatred, all the human emotion.
They’ll make Mars another Earth, in a strange way I feel
We’ll not leave behind human divide, the inequity’s evil
Our boundaries and walls of color of skin, stigma of racial curse
Will they be all carried with us, transported to the new home Mars?