Social Media Royalty (poem)

Who are you to speak to me so?
With acid dripping from your lips
As flames bursting forth like bullets from your finger tips
You have a following, a group, or posse
Each one of them chattering like teeth inside empty skulls
Bone against bone in this arthritic world

Words bitter like loneliness
Acidic as the bottom of an ashtray
You make you points and scream your words
When ash coats your tongue, your kiss – poison

When did we get to be so nasty?
So ready to declare war
To tell women you aren’t really women if..
And men aren’t really men if…
Or Christians aren’t really Christians if…
Or allies aren’t allies if…
Or love is not love if…
How would you know? Where did you learn? How do you keep score?

Take your posse and your words
Take your indignation, too
Take your mother’s lack of home training
Take your Amazon, goodreads, comments on MSNBC
Take your blog posts, and your Twitter and get the fuck away from me

Misery loves company
And I’m tired of being your bitch
Tired of living inside your cast iron soul
Hearing your words, scratching your itch
You’re schtick famous
You’re silly and rather trite
You’re social media royalty
In empty castles on sandy shores

Saint Tess of the Great Society forgotten(poem)

In this concrete reality of busted windshields and broken dreams
Where lost boys had daggers for eyes and pretty girls with too much hairspray and eyeshadow, shook their goods in shorts too high.

Where demons Giggled like jackals beneath chemical colored street lamps
Ready to pounce on the unexpected and passive, and gentleness hadn’t much of a chance

Where the sound of fire trucks screaming through the night
Brought chills to the hot humid air

and the fear of shadows and rumor sent you running

when death was brought on by a dare

Where summers burned like wildfires raging
When tempers flared and bullets flied
And gangs of bandit misfit castaways languished
Marooned there angry, forgotten,  high

Lay a secret garden of softened edges
Guarded by a woman of Maltese descent
Where one could find under a magnolia tree swaying
A bouquet of wonder, in every hue, in every scent

There amidst the cracked concrete alleys
Nestled between decay, brutal truth, and pain
Lay a square section of salvation so lovely to behold
You asked yourself ‘Did heaven look this way?’

There were pansies red, and marigolds so yellow
Snap dragons of every shade
roses bursting forth triumphant

Four o’clocks bloomed steady
After April showers brought forth the glory of May

It was an oasis in a drab grey desert
Where color faded in Detroit’s old broken down mess
The land was an estate of grandeur so vivid
Lorded over by a woman named Tess.

In the midst of Hobbes prophecy
harsh, brutish, and short this land of Urban decay
I’ll always remember that secret garden so lovely
Saint Tess of the Great Society forgotten
Whenever April turns steadily to May

Grocery store famous (Poem)

I danced in the grocery store line
Bobbin my head to a memory
Was it Whitney? Maybe Paula?
Hmmm, it doesnt matter it was familiar.
And I sang along.
When my mother took me as a child
To Framer Jacks or A and P
I used to hate the music piped over the intercom
Songs from an age in which I was unfamiliar
But as I hefted produce, and cheese, and wine to the conveyor belt
I slipped back in time for a moment
And dance and sang with my coupons and money in hand
Unafraid, unbothered, singing in harmony with Steve Perry
About a boy born and raised in South Detroit
Yes. I was happy for a moment
And the headliner in lane number 9

Never should (poem)

Never should a winter be so cold
Or I, so lonesome
That I can not hear the whispering words of my lovers heart nor feel the warmth of his tender cheek agaisnt mine
Never should my heart be turned to stone, and I so unmoved
That the sins of my father escape my attention and I abandon my humanity for comfort
Never should my passions burn so bright, and words be so sharp
That I sear the flesh off of youths starry hopes and with my tongue tear asunder their dreams
Never should a winter be so cold, and I so calloused
So rigid and inflexible that the things I detest about the world turn me into its worst example

These are the things I fear as I get older, late at night, in the midst of February.

The Exchange (poem)

We trade things
Independence for happiness
Money for food
Our bodies for pleasure

We exchange ourselves
Self assuredness for acceptance
Money for drugs
Our hearts for mere moments when tomorrow may never come

There are no receipts for these things
No bills of lading as time has nowhere to go
And no one to receive it

We borrow from others What we give away
Need drives us to take
Whether it be in sitting next to a friend
Or in erotic embrace

Does the end come
When we’ve given away all we’ve had?
All that we are?
Does our life slip from us when every ounce of give is gone?

Is that what it means when we say
‘They were taken’?
Because they’d nothing left to give?
And to whom are they then received?

The universe?
I am?

I wanted to love you (Poem)

I wanted to love you
And wrap you safe in my arms
When the night winds swept with frosty diligence to rattle the bones of the house
I wanted to love you
With my words
Kissed on the back of your neck
Or on that soft spot on your hips
I wanted to love you
In the morning as the sun or grey light
Filtered into a room that smelled of dust and spent love.
I wanted to love you
In the midst of a storm as the world rages with its power, celestial entities casting light down with the heat of ten thousand suns
I wanted to love you
I just wanted to love you
And I’d hoped, and dreamed, and begged
For you
Love me