These times are lean
Not for only the queer and fine.
Not for only those of disabled mind.
For all human and…unkind.
Cannot help but feel a chill in the air.
Cannot help but wonder…
the depth of waters,
The river’s edge no longer inviting.
Vacant tables seem
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.
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…
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,
A catatonic, petrified
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
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.