Category: Poetry

 Each night we process the good, bad & ugly.
We witness hate, cruelty & kindness lovely.

In sleep our brains sort thru & file it away.
Save, what we don’t understand; when down we lay.

Yes, these are the loose bolts that trauma causes.
When we remember, thoughts grind over pauses.

Some misfiles cause nightmares or sweaty panics.
Some breed situational mood swings manic.

In therapy, one by one, reorder these.
Make each horror small & get up off your knees.

It’s hard to facilitate personal growth.
It’s imperative & needs commitment…both.

It’s boring, it’s hard & it’s time consuming.
But, you’re better afterward…less presuming.

American learning’s done after school!
Thus, we pay the price for that ignorant rule.

We may have supercomputing in each palm.
Though, most are playing mindless games for some calm.

Distracted from self by available all.
Scrolling thru life depicts society’s fall.

One of our oldest American Lies…
“The Self-Made Man” & we all know these guys.

Center of their universe failing up.
If it’s all for them, all else can get tupped.

Pissed in poverty & chilled with money.
They overuse life right down the dunny.

Born with giant generational trusts.
Self-starting knowhow long covered in rust.

Murky ethics & slippery morals…
Make choice yes men, when power needs oral.

Fuck you, Death…the deal was Me First.
Take me, not loved ones, to slake thirst.

Everytime that I knocked on wood;
I’d say, “Me First” & think we’re good.

My list of names, not prolific.
I should have been more specific.

I thought that “loved ones” covered all.
Yet, I confess that order’s tall.

So, slapped surprise, the world’s lost you.
The next time we meet…Deja Vu.

For: Deja/Kyle Stewart

Once large, now small, is a man in my head.
Been far better, if the prick dropped dead.

You donated half of my DNA.
So, it’s 50/50 You made me gay.

Old age claims life & you’re still not sorry.
Karma will run you down in a lorry. 

Firmly outside your dark cloud it’s sunny.
My remove, at this point, makes sad funny.

Um…Thanks for the jizz; but it’s My honor…
To survive & thrive without you, father.

Does it bother you? Does it make you chafe…
You weren’t able to make me feel unsafe?

None privileged chased when the first chase arose.
The first chasers noted that evil grows.

Always vulnerable, the first fruit picked.
Lazy fat bullies, the easy ones, nicked.


Better to rule over those near the ground.
Consume what they can roll to & around.

With each extinction their bottom draws close.
Last, cannibals eating their own tails…gross.

See something, say something; camera lens.
Add your own sunlight to, criminals, cleanse.

Masked men are still rampaging thru our hoods.
Masked so we can’t dox them…& yes, we would.

We’re the people for which this country stands.
Takes group effort to escape evil hands.

Impeach & convict; a step we should take.
Because, our reality is at stake.

No slaps on the wrists or second chances.
No gray area of circumstances.

This must end; at the latest, November.
Else, we’ll fall behind…barely remembered.

Dull dishcloths love kicking long dead horses.
It’s a sad show of impotent forces.

The stubborn ignore the rash & the itch.
Homemade sin’s a star; compared to this bitch.

Surprised at collapse; but ignored the sag.
Self-embittered, dissolved into a hag.

Brandish acquaintances as your goals met.
Fair-weather friends are no use when you’re wet.

I need not prove a solitary thing.
You don’t have to cheat to commit a fling.

Beautiful men now wearing gender mixed clothes.
Ripped bodies in loud frocks are what rednecks loathe.

They’ve no clue how to take tacit permission.
Save, paying drag queens for styling commissions.

There’s relatable bravery behind masks.
Yet, all aren’t creative enough for these tasks.

The shop, the paint, the wig; the tape & the tucks…
To shine inside & out absent any fucks.

It wouldn’t be gay if we all did drag gigs
It requires talent, time, duct tape & good wigs.

Have respect for the colosal effort made.
Admire brilliant progress OR see culture fade. 

The info I could reference wasn’t afforded.
So, I’m quite relieved that I thought to record it.

Not just a faint gist; the words are etched in my mind.
When they grow dull, I listen again & rewind.

You requested I ponder but left me no sheets.
Keep being bland evil & you will catch the beats.

A bell rung hard may shake off a lifetime of rust.
Yes, fine. I’ll be your boogeyman Queen…if I must.

I know, some day, you’ll want to apologize.
Though, who can swallow sorry when garnished with lies?