Sub-Urbia

Outside the urban landscape….
What hides in our lives as it coincides with the strides
of antelope on African Savannahs?
Suburban Safari Societies in their stamped-out
man-made homes on their clear-cut,
man-made savannahs.
Fear of the wilds of the woods.
Fear of not being able to see off into the distance.
Fear of being brought down by a lioness, by the neck,
unable to put up any resistance.
You must understand your roots.
Leave the suburbs to the suits!
I’ll take the sounds of the city
or my hiking boots.

Rage

Tensions are rising.
Can’t revert situations that I have been put in
that should not have been,
so the pressures not subsiding.
It’s Friday.
My blood’s on the back burner
as my girl gives it a stir.
Image lost as she comes around full circle
and I can see her eyes in the light of morn.

She’s not unlike a funnel.
And I’m just this empty glass bottle.
She will dispense into me a volume of water
so that I appear full…
but not a single milliliter more.
The temperature drops.
I expand and fall as a thousand glass shards
to the floor.
She knew that my cap was on too tight
And forever more set me out
into the inevitable cold for no obvious reason
other than spite.

RAGE….
Impulses emanating from deep within my brain.
Expressed as blood boils with fingers clenched
and knuckles bent,
eyes empty and insane.
Your influence on my life has proven to be
the raising of Cain.

Sub-Urbia

Outside the urban landscape….
What hides in our lives as it coincides with the strides
of antelope on African Savannahs?
Suburban Safari Societies in their stamped-out,
man-made homes on their clear-cut,
man-made savannahs.
Fear of the wilds of the woods.
Fear of not being able to see off into the distance.
Fear of being brought down by a lioness, by the neck,
unable to put up any resistance.
You must understand your roots!
Leave the suburbs to the suits.
I’ll take the sounds of the city
or my hiking boots.

To My Friend the Mouse (Upon His Death at My Own Hands)

We spent each and every night within the warmth
of each others body.
My hay straw mattress had become
a woven womb to us.
Your activity might have startled me
as you went about your business.
But I soon grew un-accepting
of all the little shit you left.

A pest-free home is the best defense to the common cold,
so it’s off to the hardware store
and I’m sold.
Choosing peanut butter to be your last supper,
instead of a cheesy mold.
I say my “good nights” and begin my flight,
knowing I may wake to a snap.
But a small pool of blood is easier to clean up
than a lifetime of rodent crap!

Flip-back mouse trap reflexes
reflect all that preceded your
urgent need to feed.
Squeezing through cracks and running along window sills
in a relentless search for cheese.

Was it your love that brought you to your knees
and snapped this metal coil across your head?
Well I’m sorry anyway, buddy,
be sure of that.
Now it feels so cold in my bed.

Grass Roots

Politics are all talk and proposing policy.
I suggest a more grass-roots approach to Democracy.
You see, the art is in the action….
the action, born in the mind.
And in due time will arise a people that abides
by the true laws laid out for man.
That is if you help your neighbor when you can.
And learn to walk barefoot alone through the sand.
Spirit sails tandem and kisses the sky
before returning to Earth
with the bounty of the land.

The rural renaissance will claim its turf….
I will send down my roots to make sure of that.

Indica Incorporated

So the war on weed has stressed supplies and caused the need
for greedy entrepreneurs to set up Canadian herb factories.
Precision chemical regiments of
hydroponically supplied nutrients
maximize yield, while taking away from
the human experience.
The connection between plant and man is lost.

In this place, six week old sisters are fondled
well before their time.
No care is given.
This wet leafy mass can never appear as if
it were in it’s prime.
Especially with little time to dry before it’s across the river
and in your pipe….And what about price?

Hay-straw smelling weed. Damp charcoal lunk!
Consider yourself lucky if you feel tall
off this stuff.

To the procurers of the B-ster mentality
I have only this to advise:
“Take your time.”
Patients and good energy combined
could have made that same shit kind.
Doesn’t every living thing strive
to live up to their full potential
instead of dying premature
at the corporate firing line?

The Lottery

How many times am I forced to stand in line
at the corner bodega cashier
as the lottery drawing grows near?
Poor people with a dollar and a dream
seem to congregate as they feign
for the lifestyle that holds them down.
The masses can’t hide their frown
as they pump their gas
and ponder on their winning ticket….their fix!
A scratch-ticket junkie without money for a better car,
just enough for a pack of cigarettes.
You see, the lottery is just another tax on the poor.
A dollar and a dream simply turns into three or four.
And the privileged class doesn’t need to look
toward a brighter day.
Only a higher tax bracket when they bring home more.
So let’s allow the poor to pay for the poor….
Dangle trinkets in front of the week
and see who falls hypnotized to the floor.

“All of this new capital has the potential
to build our state a new school.”

Well you go explain that to the elderly woman
whose dreams haven’t come true.

Compost Me

When I die I want to die like a plant
and sink back into the Earth.
My body is of more worth as fertilizer for a friend
than it is as a corpse in a box.

And I want to live like a fox.
Spending all of my day checking out this and that,
and always living simply.

I know that I have to stop.
I know that I have to make my peace, let go of the past,
and be as still as moss on a rock.

So that when I die I will die like a plant
and melt back into Mother Earth….
Granted a respectful second birth.

Open Waters

It seems every living being begins breathing
staring out on the world with foggy vision.
Consciousness status risen.
Split with each individual decision.
A salmon egg hatches,
and it is the dawning of my inception.

And then to set off on ones' own.
Meandering streams will widen as they convien
So just meditate in the flow.

Confident state.
You think that you know that the little guppies
are insignificant somehow.
Shadow camouflage of waving river grass
masks the attack that is nothing more
than everyday life….
to cipher.

A rip-tide rush captures me precariously
and my scales are sent out to high seas.
Visions as I drift of my youthful bliss,
back at the fish hatchery.

My innocence had enveloped me.
No cares of how I appeared
or what my life might bring.
Just to glide along, puffy-gilled,
as if I was smiling.

Oh, if that feeling could only come back to me!
It doesn’t sound like insanity….
But I suppose my only option would be
to turn around and head back upstream.

Life In Limbo (Rushing Around Going Nowhere)

Let me set the scene.
Your sitting at home.... Alone.
Got that spinal itch tingling up and down
your backbone.

Can’t sleep.
Don’t feel any desire to eat.
Just to crush up tiny pills, give them a smell,
and then to repeat…

Once or twice every morning….
Well maybe more like thrice.
Then change it up and eat a couple
just to add a little spice to your life.

“Sorry….I’m not in right now.
I’m on a permanent trip to
Ocean City.”
Got lost.…found some new friends.
levitate above my body
while they spin me.

I’m on the pier right now,
sitting alone by waters’ side
Feeling the pull of the moon,
my mind riding out with the tide.

My life is in limbo.

I don’t know which way to turn
or where to go.

Hold on a second…
I got just the thing though.

Ode to a Television

Quiet a moment.
You are my friend.
Home alone I feign for you
as if you were heroin.
A blank gaze,
a wasted hour.
One thousand brain cells a second
hypnotizing flashes devour.
I love that empty feeling in my head.