Ode to Morning Birds

I hear you.
And although its never the same song
Twice
I always listen.
Goodnight.

Cause

Why would a sagging mattress keep
The conversation in such a nagging time

As to press cold and sobering
Against my comfort slumber?

There is not a man there who shields
The winter breeze blasting from a fan

I put the fan in front of my face
I cannot fall asleep alone

If your Indian summer arms cannot solution
I will not as well surrender the winter'ed cause

I will curl tight into a ball and press
My arms into the chest that chose to leave summer behind.

Moon (Part One and Two)

MORE TO COME!!!!

Moon



I.

When I got here
Things were falling from limbs with
A pacified, tried and true breeze
To a place of warm, wishful thinking
I got here arriving at a solace
Of relief just after America’s
Violent segue, metamorphosis
Overwhelming
When finally breaths were exhaled
I arrived with such a setting sun
And an awakening of visions
Lit only by the electric luminescent
Insistence of entitled, surface-value
Ethno-centrism
Lit only in the shadows by
The honest to god moonlight
I arrived, watching the ideas
That our rambling television sets
Tell us what we are doing
As the Rodney King police force
Rang sirens in our ill-lit streets


The afternoon before my arrival
Saw the birth of a million sock
Stuff gagging ex-indie-viduals
Who’d ‘learned their lesson’
Wanted to chill out at the mall
And recently developed the ability to turn off
The left over dope still shaking
From their once lifted in exaltation
Now firmly clutching a 9 to 5
Roundabout by the briefcase handed
Hands
I watched as slowly the next
Generation, my generation
Tip toed with smiles through
The Rube Goldberg mousetrap
Candied land they were born into
And leapt towards a crucial decision


They had either to hump furiously for cheese
Promised to them on the loudspeakers
Booming in the cage
Or hold tight, eat their hunger pains
And clasp their ears while screaming
Watched the sun set on a chapter
Of tensions fought out on a field of black and white
Void of grey
The television screaming
WAR IS OVER
In a different red banner every night
Made with blood each time
Watched the relief sigh its way through the suburbs
Before turning into a crackpipe scream in the city
I was settling into a world finally acquainted to its lovely
Things to which time could now be devoted
Seeing as our troubles were gone
People found it harder to see
When I was first meeting them

II.

When I got to my rightful place among the clouds
Flying so high my eyeballs felt like deserts flinging stinging sand specks
My mouth awaiting a violent relationship with water
My lungs wheezing the smog of a city
Built on the lethargy of youth derailed
The walls of my chest stained from
Pizza sauce and bong water
But nothing prepared me for the
Laws of my sky ride
The clouds of cigarette smoke exhaled from
My father's kingdom of the 60s.
The powerful taboo making the puff motion
More popular than the dick suck
The constant battles fought and bonfires
Built on the grounds of my landscape
Sent up a wave of noise telling me not
To inhale the relieving clouds of optimism
Followed directly and completely by
Those very delicious smoke signals.