the Queer and the Fine

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These times are lean

for many.

Not for only the queer and fine.

Not for only those of disabled mind.

For all human and…unkind.

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Cannot help but feel a chill in the air.

Cannot help but wonder…

the depth of waters,

free flow.

The river’s edge no longer inviting.

Vacant tables seem

splintered.

Less confiding.

Brighter times misguiding.

The size of things and secret matters left to a court jester and mad hatter.

To fend distant thought,

I watch in admiration,

as my dogs frolic.

Their antics blissfully unaware of the impending need to panic.

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Unique Kind of Normal

As soon as, I married madness and rebellion…

the tilted, chaotic, walls, fell in upon themselves.

A panting dog with only a muddied puddle to quench her thirst…I gave into acceptance of water from the sullied, still waters.

Every morning, as sanity mounts upon a cluttered and chipped floor.

Inching closer to the bedroom door.

Every morning, ordinary thoughts and scattered mind debris, grasp at my feet.

Must remain stringent and pull a unique kind of normal…around me…

Head in Sand’s of Cotton

The matters of survival…came minus a note. It arrived with no fanfare…Teasing me…so, perhaps, I would not know it was there. The tactics did not grasp at straws. It was kindred to a hungry, stray dog…giving to a constant gnaw. Eating and thriving …Instincts purposeful and raw. By happenstance, my strategy began under covers. I stuck my head in a sand of cotton. Instead of waking up…I came to. All but the pain had been forgotten. And, thus I began my infinite walk towards survival. Yet, I have never been a fan of the games people play. Always had to do things my own way. Discovering…long ago, when walking alone, there is no deceiving with the faces we portray.

Numbed Consent

Mold growing on mold

What a souvenir

I light a Marlboro Red and pretend to disappear into the seams of late show talk

On the screen, puppets for complacency dance…ever so near

I could fluff the pillow to a higher state

However comfortable, I could also, puncture what it is…

I stand for

in and out

out and about of this,

numbed consent

A catatonic, petrified

Gentrifying,

be safe…leave no trace

Bare ass, I lay down to stay up late

Searching the cushions for loose change to purchase an empty plate

One Thing Leads to Another

Hate has no home here!

Can We live without the Death Penalty?

Are none of us as…we appear?

From country meadow to north country butchers…who dare not sleep…to urban sheep.

I could place argyle socks over history…

I cannot disguise my cruel feet.

When I pigtail my banner…’does all good intention freckle my deceit?’

Do not answer me, the signature will hurt.

For me to petition diversity…rancor must have no common ground.

Do not advise me to…not Act Up.

To do so would hurt.

Every good intention…a twilight to conventional curse.