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When I pour a second glass,
white and crisp
like this August night—
one floor below
bumps Biggie
through a line-up of new
millennium hiphop,
proclaimed in a high-pitch,
fem-male voice— "This soong
brings me back
to sophomore year
in high school, when..."
I was fucking one of the Quincy B
boys—they'd always play
this track Friday n Saturday nights
when our college house
rocked the smell of Tangueray
and Bud Light.
But tonight,
I hit my bowl
sip like a swig
and write.
“That was nice of you” said
the middle-aged black
man sitting to my left.
Wearing a blue Carhartt-lookin
jacket, face worn-wrinkled young,
kinda surprised, kinda skeptical
kinda curious.
“It was kind of you.” I to he who gave
a single dollar to the woman worn, left
foot limp, grey Hanes sweatshirt
not warm enough for tonight asking
for a dollar or a sandwich.
“I had an apple. I never give money.
But today I had an apple and I felt
kind enough.” More
nutritious than the peanut butter
oatmeal granola food-processed remains
aluminum-wrapped. For my
hunger hard-work earned, skeptical of the indigent
respect lost to the indolent, the alcoholics
beggars of trust
of whom there are too many
too commonly known for invading
the convenience of street corners
and L-trains, while I try to forgive
myself for wondering why
they have time to badger me but not
work like me.
Remind myself
no story’s the same — not all are addicts lost
to idleness that lead them to this lifelessness, remind myself
how I hate hypocrites and would just as quickly
ask you not to stereotype as I
stereotyped this woman
when she asked for money
before food.
Moonscapes draw shadows 'cross rooftops,
landscaping lives of living
shadows – people cycling through days
of sun-kissed projections
of the lives they aren’t living –
they cast sideways
glances, projecting their
insecurities on those
producing dreams
of families loving families –
productivity for a society
united by a philosophy
of love thy neighbor,
Christian
Muslim
Hindu
Shinto
Buddhist atheist, agnostic
anarchists of monogamist polygamist
sexist feminist, misogynist –
all masochists,
their insecurities eating
does of anxiety
for breakfast before facing days
overcast by self-doubt, wondering
when Darwinism will subliminate
ignorance, uniting a mixed race
born in honorable collaboration
to create communities
of families loving families
whose foundation
seeps honesty into the roots
of the air
we breathe.
Anxiety Haiku
i have anxie
ty attacks, sometimes when i
realize how much i
like you, this means i
believe in you who make me
smil
e
e e
eeeee
e.
I remember—
he married, couldn’t
explain his anger
to his wife;
with no commitment
I veered, my right
preference, really.
We had not yet met.
Walk with me.
Remember—
you in red, me backless
a bbq, a camera
spicy sweet watermelon salad
deliciously dangerous
you refused
though the serving yours
—shellfish.
There were games—
you played,
my lens observed
We barely spoke.
I continued to shoot
past your protest
and with my promise,
you trusted.
In the hour
supple our lips
entwined, told
the same story.
Eyes tied
we laughed at the awe
of our audience,
slightly embarrassed
you drew me back
teeth against my bare shoulder
—I had not left, the impress
of your lips lingered.
“Take a walk with me”
under that willow.
We talked, your intellect
sparked interest, your skin
chemistry. Exposed
with the entrance
of evening revelers
we continued east.
A rest stop intended
became our end.
In my kitchen
I sighed—
your intuition responded
my intuition reacted
the chemical implosion
filled every orifice
and while every logical
cell in my body
wanted to run screaming,
physics demanded
control—magnetism
reigned, our lips electric
conducted our bodies
bound
closer
we slept.
Morning found Monday
disregarded. Brunch, beach
our acquaintance
had not known 24 hours
but as we lay in the warm
sand your nose caressed
the sweet skin
between my shoulder blades
and you wrote
of losing your soul
in my smile.
For any of this I
was not ready,
my heart still mending
and reason contending
I pulled away further
as you declared your infatuation
in our 48th hour.
Had I understood,
I would have recognized
the offering of your heart,
heard desperation struggling
to preserve the soul you had lost.
But still searching for my own,
I did not.
When I returned
we talked—your intellect
sparked interest, skin chemistry
eyes trust.
However, hardened dexterior
craving casual encounters
protected assurance
would not allow my admittance
and though the serving yours—
you refused, deliciously
dangerous my
body trembles
hands ache
feeble heart
breaks.
Remember?
Her black Converse
crossed at the ankle
absorb the weight
of her day. Serious
and focused, her mind
searches, contemplating
what—I don't know.
Brightly adorned
in turquoise and red,
her aura doesn't align
with the gravity
written in the stare
of her eyes, the line
of her lips. What
and why—I wish
I could answer, lighten
the lines, lift her smile.