The Funny Man

if news could take a figure
it would crack me at the throat
split the dam like a dagger
cuts the jugular
scratch the blood out of me
till it spills in liters
a shattered faucet
i clutch to what stays of me
to the sweat that curdles
at my eyes
and my constipated heart

a voice cracks
on the phone splitting time
with its minutes of death
bolting me to this gravel
and maggot filled earth
with its icy command:
Stay and listen and listen and listen
to the cracks on the phone
the cracks as the body cremates

"Your Grandfather is dead."

and I can feel my head
tilting tilting tilting
off its neck

First Draft: I wonder....

I sit in bed and wonder who I am, and wonder and wonder
I can hear the thoughts of millions, the stories that aren't mine but that I so badly want to tell like a over excited child I track mud in and take before I think, dirty the jewels that someone else has so carefully polished
I am moved by that which sparkles but when someone tells me to find my own jewels I can only see mud.
Paw prints on the wall, a musty scent of week old odor.
I wonder who I am
Wonder like a child trying to find it's mom, who is going to hold my hand?
I don't really believe it when I see all those famous people doing famous things without holding someone's hand.
But they must be right?
Maybe the hand is hidden, cut out from the camera or maybe they forgot to tell it in their stories.
I'm starting to realize that I'm only as special as my mom thinks I am.
I can't do special things, just get pushed into special places.
I work well under pressure because my mom always has me under pressure, like her cabbage stew.
Or is it the other way around?
Her cabbage stew cabbage stew is always under pressure because it's always under pressure like me.
That sounds right and yet not quite, like sound of an empty house where everyone is gone except for one little girl or a desert rock at sunset that looks like a grinning face.
My mom is the special one and yet I'm the carrier of dreams. Everything went so well it's wrong and I am scared at night of expecting too much or being expected of anything. I don't want to break any dreams.

Something More Then Friends

I told him yes, but

it never came from the heart.

I told him I love you, but

it never meant anything to me.

When we broke, he couldn’t understand why.

I’m cruel to have him by my side.

I’m a monster to let him go.

I can’t find peace in myself,

just fear and frustration

and the want to run away.

From what?

From him?

No, he is not scary, but his hand is

 when it reaches around my shoulder,

A silent declare that I am his.

When he kisses it’s like a brand,

 I instinctively squeeze my lips

 to not let anything in and when

I’m done I wipe the kiss away.

No, he doesn’t scare me, but

being something more then friends does.

The American Dream

“Make America Great Again!” Trump says and the liberals scoff that America was never that great. But I wonder if America was ever anything or just a big fat lie. Surprise! We’ve hypernormalized and without a single dime, (though trillions went into marketing) we made virtual reality! No computers needed. You just have to buy into the Dream.

Lula, Lula why don’t you kiss me Lula.

Pay no mind to the black men dying on the streets. Or the gay bar thumping thumping thumping to the gunshot beats. Vote a clown into the office and ignore that glass ceiling. I’m sure it wasn’t there for anything. Buy the Dream, tweet, tweet, tweet to all your friends like it will make a fucking difference. American became a big fat lie when metaphors became the only language we could speak.

Don’t lie baby, you is color blind

Well, I don’t care about your identity politics, your ratios of skin. I’m too scared to say everything is ok and the only good news I’ve heard all week is that the water is safe in Dakota.

My birthday was yesterday and among the Happy Birthdays and well wishes was a call to rebellion.

“If your parents are happy with chu’ then you’re doing it wrong.”

The whole world is wrong, with every day making less and less sense. When did the internet become corporate fuel, when did nothing become the new norm. It’s like this whole country is turning into a black hole and no one wants to do anything but scream. The 1950’s are back again with the new big dream. Lula had a baby, and now we are back to Eisenhower, Ronald Regan, and the big fat lie that tweets.

And among all this the world is going to die. Don’t forget that clock ticking over our heads. China’s spitting gas like a smoker on a pack of cigarettes and somehow we still haven’t solved world hunger though it isn’t a problem with food. But maybe that’s too big a concept for your tiny brain so let's keep it #relatable.

#When my mama’s going to die

                                                                        #when the river is dry                     #i’ve got no food today                     #they took my gay uncle away                       

                                                                                                            #can’t go outside without gas mask                                    #outside trump tower                                                                         #too much gold to see

Will we still be tweeting when the world ends? Snap chatting our skin covered in ash and blood with a gun to our head? Will firestorms with Potus lead to death? Or will we all be hooked to the American Dream, IV drips filled with Mountain Dew and Opioids, jacked up on the new Call of Duty.

Feeling impotent but powerful.

“Fuck the American Dream,” someone whispered one day. No one heard it but that was more then we were willing to try.

A House of Snakes

-Dedicated to my mom

Cinderella lives in a house of snakes

The cinders come from her burning skin

Which festers and falls in flakes

From all the poison the house creates

Cinderella doesn’t sleep

The kissing tongues against her chin

Are laced with poison words to make her weep

As around her legs the snakes do sneak

Cinderella works in vain

Though the snakes are her new kin

They made her mother go insane

And locked her brother away in chains

Cinderella lives in a house of snakes

Lost in their lies but a will to escape

Badger

Light, love, life, relief

Sunlight streaming down the street

Burn the leaves, burn the light

Burn the girl too pure for sight

Hey girl what’s your number?

The teardrop leaves a shudder

Sight, shut, life, alive

Bottled butterflies again revived

Ask the hands, Ask the feet

Ask in a voice syrup sweet

Hey girl, lets get to know each other.

Run from that man who thinks he’s your lover.

In My Dream

Spirals form on a glassy green

Willows dip beneath the sea

And the dragonfly hums for me

The dry air cracks my hands and heels

Sun is hotter than what’s ideal

But the marble pagoda cools me

The voice of my mother whispers near

Birds chatter without fear

And the rustling wind settles me

Sweet lemonade and dusty moon cakes

Shrimp egg rolls, their greasy flakes

The sweet cookies she makes for me

The water lilies cared for so well

Jasmine from the teakettle

And the fresh breeze from the sea