Imminent Jam

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English isn’t my first language:

It is the glossolalia of improving my mile.

Further.

Isn’t that what the man said?

 

Well, then, that always seems like always a

Hair further

Don’t it?

Man and woman alike can get tonguetwisted

 

Colloquially and in the finest farthest reaches

Of underpasses, townhomes and high-rises.

Eventually we trip over our tongues when the red light goes on.

By then, it’s time to get off anyways…

 

So knuckle under and buckle up, buttercup.

I’ll hold the steak knife to your supple chin

And by pray by dints, the glint on the blade

Blinds us all.

Excuse Me, Are You Finished With That Hegemony?

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Hey man,

Respect the dynamic.

Our empire can’t be erected

On the backs of other’s babies.

 

Again. Can it?

Oh, and speaking of erections

Ladies, maybe if you let us touch your bodies

Every once or twice or three times

 

We’d let you have a say

About your plumbing or that place

Down there wherever the stork

Deposits the twinkle in God’s eye.

 

Alls I’m saying is it’s tough being white.

Hard to be WHITE. The WHITER THE HARDER.

It’s almost, almost like trying

To not there at all.

 

To The Dogs

Addie Poem

My father has been reincarnated as a dog.

There is no physical or character resemblance.

It’s just that, well,

 

What is life but waiting

For form to allow

The soul to flourish?

 

My father used to say,

I could tell you what to do.

But you’re going to do what you want to do anyway.

 

And now he has returned

As an Australian Shepherd/ Kelpie mix

With a boundless personality

 

Who doesn’t smoke or drink

Or lament about my babci

Putting raisins in the rice pudding.

 

She loves unconditionally.

I make sure she’s fed and goes out,

Gets treats and belly rubs, too.

 

Such are the dynamics of the universe.

Waiting for the form

To allow the soul to flourish

Earthbound

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A slack of stones

Metastasizes like boulders

Beneath your shoulder

 

Blades where angel’s

Wings sprout one silly

Cilia at a time.

 

Time. Can I borrow some?

I need a ride, too,

Don’t worry, just out to the

 

Quarry. How much junk

You got in your trunk?

It’s just that, lately,

 

I’ve been fearing

I’ll be gone till

Only the mountain remains.

 

Gravity’s a bitch

For aspiring seraphim

And cherubim alike

 

Though what passes for

Difference these days

Can’t be pried apart

 

By a feather

No matter how small

Or how silly.

 

So

You got that ride

Or what?

 

 

Winter Commute

 

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The engine turns over

But the belts whine

When its cold and wet.

Winter’s not over yet

 

Especially in the morning

But its only dew

On the windshield

Rather than frost.

 

The engine turns over

But the heat blows cold

And sometimes you don’t have patience

For this car, this job, this life.

 

The engine turns over.

But one day it won’t.

Tap tap tap. Click click click.

Or nothing at all.

 

Living on the Bus-Line

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I went down to the crossroads

To catch a cross-town bus.

There was swinging with great violence

In a benevolent cacophony.

 

But the empty pleading eyes

And the emptier pleading hands

Only seemed to say sadly

You have to sit through the whole presentation

 

In order to get a round-trip ticket.

But there’s coffee and doughnuts.

Except the coffee’s bad

And the doughnuts were gone by 9.

 

Wetting the tip of my pencil to gauge the wind

I remembered an ember can travel miles

Before being extinguished so I asked my neighbor,

Hey buddy, you got a cigarette?