RIOT IN THE SKY

eyes

crawl into facebook
eyeballs scan refreshed news feed
now i’m being watched.

janet brown 365 days later

i hate calling the dead the dead
it’s so morbid
no one ever really dies
when the breathing stops, do you stop living?
do you stop talking to the ones of passed?
does anyone ever really die?

i can’t delete janet brown’s name from my phone book
it’s the only way i can hold her
so tempted to call but i’m scared of hearing the voice on the other end.
we still talk
i speak my mind
she speaks through the language of omens
like baby ducklings to stop traffic
trees to shield lightning
rivers resurrected to remind the people,
mother nature is watching.
i feel so much closer to her a year later
than i did by her hospital bed.
eyes run dry
i can’t squeeze a tear out for janet
she’s happy to know i’ve pulled away from the cycle of why.
befriended death,
said hello and
until next time.

is our lifeline in the veins of our hearts or the lines of our thoughts?
aren’t sound waves real?
feel but not touch,
hear but not see,
speak and know that words travel with destinations plentiful
both anticipated and unknown.
we only hope it lands in the right ears.

is the heart core to existence?
mind over matter works both ways
if we can push ourselves to exceed the humanly perceived,
can’t we cease the heart if determinedly so?
can’t we think about the pathways to death?
willingness holds ultimate control
like the victor standing atop the slain
mind over matter.

believing is beyond seeing.
is astral travel the cousin of death?
the heart isn’t what keeps the living
every beat ticks like a time bomb
with the final pulse, spirits explode like supernovas
how many people forget
they were a star all along?

today, this commitment reached an unhealthy point.  shit has been off the wall busy for me and i honestly tried to write a poem to keep my streak going but it wasn’t happening. i’d rather write no poem than write a half-ass, wack-ass, contrived poem. moments like these, i have to realize that if i’m not helping the art form and i’m not helping myself, i need to step back and let go. maybe tomorrow.

this is not a poem.

monay stay

top of the hub view
diamonds make the value fall
shred ten thousand bones

puff

sip smoke from her lips
slither and vanish to air
sweet silent inhale

(My favorite part is at 3:40-3:55)

I always felt Ariel was faced with the toughest of dilemmas in “The Little Mermaid”.  Become a human forever and live with her prince? Or remain a mermaid and stay with her family under the sea?  I used to ask myself the same question.  I wonder which choice I would’ve made.  It kinda sounds like interracial dating…except a more extreme version because there are less visitation options.  Or like marriage traditions between a man and woman.  What would’ve happened if Prince Eric became a merman? Was that an option?

Let’s speculate:

King Triton: So what will it be, Ariel?  Do you want legs, be with Eric, and never live under the sea again, OR do you want to remain a mermaid and find yourself a nice merman down here.

Ariel: Oh father, I love Eric and I want to be with him!  But I don’t want to leave my family and my whole world I grew up in.

King Triton: Well, you must choose.

Ariel: There must be another way.  Can Eric become a merman?

King Triton: Yes, I have the power to do that. I’m King Triton I can do anything!

Eric: But I don’t want to become a merman.

Ariel: Why not? We can live happily together under the sea!

Eric: I have a fantastic life of royalty on land.  I can’t leave that.

Ariel: I have a life of royalty as well.  And if you join me, you could still be a king!

Eric: My family is waiting for me.  You can’t expect me to leave them.

Ariel: But you can expect me to leave mine?

Eric: Why, yes.  It’s because you’re a merwoman! That’s what you’re supposed to do.

girls like you

double omelets on a sunday morning
we sip coffee from across each other
the red leather booth of a 50’s cafe holds our conversation:

girls like you
wrap me up in childhood nostalgia
love to bake dinosaur shaped cookies
touch as magical as tinkerbell’s dust
to sweep the mind off the ground.

girls like you
don’t come around often enough
read malcolm x and the alchemist like the bible
eat vegetarian for ecological reasons
support PETA
but believe in human rights first.

girls like you
know how to make a person laugh
a step away from a comedy central spotlight
smile brighter than the moon
remind the world life is too short to be living in clouds.

girls like you
go after what they want
embody the self-actualized reality
took langston hughes’ advice
now is living the dream ripe like the grapevine.

girls like you
don’t front
it is what
it is what
it is what
it is.

girls like you
voted for obama.

girls like you
are too good to be true.
most men feel undeserving
or unprepared.
his mind is not ready.

i love
girls like you.

i just don’t trust my heart with
girls like you.

push

meritocracy
is it a force or facade
plow til tomorrow

sonnet, alive

(i think i fucked up the iambic pentameter. oh well.)

our bodies are matter for the moments
recognize the metaphysical
internal spirits carry life and potence
life and death beyond traditional
when we die, do we stop living?
spirits rise / bodies beneath the grass
mass deteriorates /  energy flees killing
do we stop talking to the ones of passed?
if life is energy encased
bodies serve as time capsules
must we wait til limbs turn waste?
spirits dance celestial spinning mules
we trap ourselves within these limbs
death need not come to fly at whims.

time

rushing /state of mind
no beginning and no end
on to the next one

lisa

the middle school removed bathroom mirrors
so lisa wouldn’t look at herself.
she studied her body more than her books
paid attention to the boys more than the teachers
chased after numbers more than the grade.

lisa is twelve years old.

somebody told her nothing more mattered
than being flattered by teenage boys.
with every holla lisa gets,
she feels affirmed.
teenage hormones
feed her growing ego.

somebody told her this is how a real woman acts.
success is sex driven
look the part to get the part.
female empowerment misconstrued
from loving the body
to exploiting the body.

somebody told her she looked cute.
it’s the easiest thing to feel good about.
easier than reading books or doing homework.
she gets cute
to feel good
to forget.

lisa is wearing a cotton cropped jacket
on a brisk 50 degree day.
miss shantell asks,
“where is your coat??”
lisa says,
“are you kidding me?? do you see how cute i look in this?”

first time

my first time
was last night
i was nervous
scared of fucking up
to say the wrong thing
or push the wrong button
i wanted it to be over
soon after we started
i hate feeling inexperienced
no idea how to maneuver myself
but you were gentle
calmed my nerves
talked me through the motion
brought me closer
and closer
to finishing
my first time
will most definitely not be
my last time
thank you
TurboTax.

sleep

stranger to my own bed
my body falls deeply but never sinks in
I can’t get the mattress to wrap around me.

eyes closed
now rushing my spirit away to dreamland
sleep sifts through the hour glass
not a grain of sand to waste
these moments of unconsciousness are so precious.
like childhood
and imaginations, free of constraints
before lives were filtered,
bodies streamlined through the system,
ignorance wasn’t guilt.

in the realm of rest
anxiety is gatekeeper.
pillow falls limp under my neck.
a growing To-Do list haunts my mind
the anticipation of morning stifles
the dream.
chasing tomorrow is a blind race.
if the present is a gift
then the future will present itself.

counting sheep
run rabid nightmares
I can’t comb through the mad herd
of my own thoughts
to find a peaceful place.

when sleep is another To-Do,
it can never be reached.

the invention of planes

sapphire L.A. skies
3000 miles in my sleep
sunrise on Boston

john bert

magnetic vision
egos clash with the first move
can i get a cig?

mountain bar

seasoned gag reflex
bottoms up to make good times
we love to forget

beauty

california coast
will you be my paint palette
exhale in the mix