Some recent poetry. Long time no post.

1. Risk

Venom
of trauma spreads
through the veins
of fallen soldiers
because of
the loosely thrown
di
that gambled away
lives
of families and friends.
Men stand ready,
perched on still land
next to the
black and white bodies.




2. Daily Symphony

“There is something to be said about consistency.”
–D. Winston Brown

The familiar sting of spearmint.
Green shirt.
Black Pants.
Nametag.
Drive: holding a cigarette,
Poisoning the surrounding air.
Bagging fish.
Answering the phone.
Waiting on a crowded table.
Vending machine lunch.
Traffic: sitting still,
Listening to the same radio host
Who never changes.
Return home, to a diner for one.
Then, again: the familiar sting.
Sink into the caved mattress.
Wake up: do it again.


3. As I Recall

“He didn't even have the satisfaction of being killed for civil rights. it had to be some silly little Communist.”
-Jackie Kennedy

It went off, like the click
Of his heel
against the morning tile.
I climbed from the backseat,
To save his pieces;
To put him back together.
His head falls into my lap,
Roses splattering against my
Pink skirt, like the pedals
That line the aisle
To the altar.


4. Letting Go

Blackbird, blackbird why do you sit
and torment me with a flash of smile
over my friend’s over grown grave?

Pack up all my care and woe.
Here I go to my sanctuary
where the cool stained glass
flickers against my clothes
as I beg a metal cross for peace.

I’m like a flower that’s waiting for a vase.

No one here can love and understand me
excepts for that blackbird in the sky
that can see my blackened self
but bye bye blackbird.
blackbird, bye bye.


5. Not So Secret Life of an Nintendo 64 Controller

A cold hand, bathing in melted ice cream
Moves across my smooth, plastic landform, gripping
My curves, pressing against the yellow buttons
That point to every direction. Like Woody—
Spoken for and moved by Andy—
The hand pulls against me, thrusting me
Against an undeveloped chest, pulling the budless
Vine from the fence where I start and end.
Then, the hand throws me down, my vine,
Forced by anger, follows through the air,
Freezing the generated machine gun—
Putting an end to the war.


6. Sheriff Woody is Demoted to a Second Shift Mall Cop After Having Tea With a Convicted Gangster

His shirt and pants fall into his black boots,
As he stands on the rubber platform of his
Grey and blue segway. The wind blows
Under his brown toupee, revealing his forehead.
The passion fruit air freshener hangs
from his plastic nose.

He passes a man with orange hair like
The tips of Al’s Cheetos-covered fingers;
A woman whose stomach protrudes from her body
Like an egg from the carton;
An old man whose snake-skin boots slithers
Along the linoleum floor (reminding Woody
Of his once snake-bitten foot).

He picks up trash,
Peeling the “Made in China” stickers from the
Bottoms and sides, resting them against his hands
Until he can add then to the “Made in China” wall
Of his security locker.