Amy, I Told You I Was Trouble

The thermos spews a silly steam

Like a beehive gone awry.

The brim steams only with vapor now.

Naturally, the water burns.

To touch a scalding pot of coffee - 

Oooooh, such danger.

Don’t wake up.

When the singe blisters the skin,

Those burn like tattoos

Covered and lubricated and nurtured in the sun

Vitamin D pulsing all the same

With that dream deferred all the same
With his old same old safe bet…

Or maybe it was the caffeine 

But those are just stimulants.

What really wakes you up?

A dizzy spin turns the mind

When it waits for the splash of Joe -

That acidic blast down in the veins

Like an arctic wind or a solar flare -

Something cosmic and galactic.

(Too grandiose

For you).

The ornery evening splashes the gut;

It coats the senses with a heightened sense, 

Nothing more than a general tone of self-importance.

I cheated myself like I knew I would.

When they pour whiskey I know it’s for me

So I’m kind of a big deal.

Pople idolize bourbon brands;

Who could blame them?

Everyone really has the right, 

Particularly, in this life 

If you’re allowed to pick your own poisons.

HOSSANAH!

HOSSANAH!
Who dat be?!?
Be dat me?!?
Who you? Who me?
Just this dark Negro, G.
You know. The blackest man you'll ever meet.

The traditions are far flung and gone. Forever fought and won, and lost again all for fun. In the heartest of the darkest heart, deep in a congo river dream, there slinks a shadow of light - brightness so dark you can never see.  Woolen hair from the script for the Darkest Negro dat ever be.

Just a dark Negro, like you think you've seen.

On triangles and ships, monster trips touching on all God's Inquisition and venturing to certain inadequacies. I repeat rhetoric. I repeat rhetoric. Just because we will never see.

Hossanah?

Who you be? Be you he?
Dat ain't me.
We'll shet dat do, sun, shet dat do kna so's my eyes can see.

See who dat what? The darkest Negro I can ever see.

What's it's take to hear that sound, that dripping deathly sound. The things that I hope you might see. Even just to hear them, that's what I need.

CAN YOU HEAR ME? Who's the darkest Negro you don't wanna see?

NIGGER!
NIGGER!
NIGGER!

HOSSANAH!?  Can you fucking hear me?

That's the darkest Negro you'll ever see?

Never, nosirree, NIGGER ain't s'posed to be seen.

Been there, done that, missed it, learned that. That has nothing to do with the darkest Negro you'll ever see...

Or, more seriously?
Clandestine ships, in midnight economy.
HOSSANAH!... Skeleton crews of shyphyllitic conquest.
Built on sand mountain avalanches of God's word.
Twisted bazaars of carnage.
Chicken coups and scape goats of God's mighty evil.
Who that be? Don't matter much to me.

Warring brother worlds of free market determination.
Blood spewing guns dripping in guilty death before a shot fired.
Coagulated hate sticking specters to the land.
Dusty crops of devalued greed.
Handcuffed and bound by the powers that be.
HOSSANAH!  Who ever layed that down?
That's where the nigger be.

"Sunrise at dawn makes for redundancies.
Dancing to the illogical frustration,
Hosannah, I can make no more frustration than that,"
That's what the Negro said as he disappeared before me.

Tiny Chapters

I

I am folding pages from the novel of life like peels from a banana?

No.  Maybe an oyster.  Shucking from my thoughts the crystallized pressure of the ocean;

At least the passing of time against my weary young body.

An oyster is too hard.  My soul is soft.  Yes, my soul is far from anything hardened.

I understand a pearl lies beneath the rough exterior.  

But I don't purport to be a shell with hidden beauties.

No, my soul might be softer - like a doughnut.  I understand, there is nothing inside.

Holes - that is truly the passage of time.  So many lawyers of intricate production.

Sure the ingredients are not entirely difficult.  But a fried doughnut is no easy proposition.

A well crafted doughnut is, in its entirety, a collection of toppings and adornments.

A gentle hand nurtures a doughnut to its gushy interior by topping

The squishy hole-filled creature with a glaze of sugar and sprinkles and chocolate...

AND SOMETIMES THEY PUT IN JELLY.

Is my soul a Jelly doughnut topped with a strong dusting of confectioners' sugar?

II

I get lost looking through faces of the past.  

They are not lost because they are unfamiliar to me.

They are lost because they are apart from me.

I miss my memories.  

That is either obvious or redundant.

Literally memories needn't be missed.

But we all use the word memories in reflecting on times we miss.

I miss the times in which I can recall a friend.

Even if a face is apart from me, I can still recall a friend.

III

Time flows constantly, not as a reckless stream but as an overwhelming tidal wave.

The tossed ships and cracked fusion of an overwhelming show of tidal force - yes, that is Time.

Time becomes almost nothing in it's immensity

The ant does not conceive of us as a person but as a vast unexplored landscape with treasures untold

We use words like traverse and explore as we conceive of temporal landscapes

Where by Time is a being unto itself and we don't even know of it's individual existence.

One should not look to map this time, much as an ant will not try to understand every human finger

Which pushes it... nor heel which exterminates it.

Do not wonder when the heel or the finger will push and crush you.

A quibble with time does nothing but prevent us each from that savory moment

When friends are friends certainly in life and in forever ever

Where the mind is not bound and time does not exist.