So many thoughts… ideas just breezed in, by. They come often in small waves, small rises but I have difficulty riding them, penning them. I always wanted a mini stenographer to type up my literary expulsions but they are often fast and foggy. Ideas are great and rewarding though the application is frail and full of folly. Fuck.
To another side came clouds and thunderous grayness billowing, spindling, rapturing ’round a child’s head.
A smallish child with pixie eyes. Jangling bow legs and squatting on rough sneakers that leech and ingrain into the grass, the earth. The child looks around bewildered and betwixt; onerous fog circling the bulbous skull, not a smell nor sniff yet. Tilting head and shoulder the child, half-male half-female, slowly, so slowly, walks down a glowing path. Dense green and amber specks silt languid onto unknown space…
It’s all so sectioned and layered, like little sushi houses on the hillside. Tamped down suburban tapestries edging and lining round ‘hoods. The ironclad
community irons out the numbers. Fives and nines and yays of the committees, concluded quotas pity the false riche. Rotary clubs and sandy beaches privately wedged ‘tween overtaken communals, blank spaced re-unmolded earth, steam-cleaned flattened land freshly longing for plazas, open-concept piazzas, quaintly coiffed town square, with the clock tower facing outward.
Always a face out, facing opposite to differentiate, separate, sepiarate. Bring back an olde ways sideways from the main days. Throwback projecting capitalize on the rose-coloured capitalism. Shaded eyes, shady palms, wave hello to new Coconut Grove. Hello, I must be going.
Let’s just say flowers and bushes aren’t the only things white picket fences shield from growth.
Someone gives life
creates – unfurls – brushes colour into the earth
warm breath cascades forth mist-like
living longing – sentience
warm blood moving in and around a body of promise
Another takes life
eradicates the spark – hush out the warmth that could continue to grow
breath so warm so long
stomped, shattered, ‘neath the concrete
stealing a life
thieving more warmth from our bodies, from our hopes
dreams of good will
my feet bleed as I walk among the debris in another man’s shoes
lungs desperate for warm air
From a life of servitude to useless fodder.
The poultry pharms are proles no longer, roles no longer.
Necessary to put them under, down and sunder, thunderous clatter among the squawks.
Iced in beasts become a burden.
Burdened no longer.
Bred to kneel to death no longer. Longer sentence cut for the covid.
No be to thee nor to that
No lust for hills of gilded fawning
Trembling accords, grander graces
Those outer, bowing to other, give cheers and chords to status seekers
Harping for thine golden echelons singing praises
sipping n supping the quos’ mannered listings
Hierarchy matter makes steep staircased showing
Huzzah lustful princes n dames
High places n high stats do thee revel in
Ethereal n ephemeral, heavens lustre glittered
But human, oh so human art thee
Prided, gilded, guilted
Held up sombrely n loverly tiny worships you’ve implored
Large jests these largesse onto commoners so abhorred
Maketh matter maketh marred gods to suffer n endure
Sufficed for the times until new ones bear forth
Maketh new, maketh more
“while I debate whether or not I ever want to have children because one day they might be the unarmed victim being shot down, or the promising young person whose life was shortened because they were in the ‘wrong place’ or were there at the ‘wrong time’, because they might be blamed for their own murders and deaths or assaults no matter how kind-hearted, intelligent, and respectful I raise them to be.”
It’s not important to everyone but it is important to some. Eventually this portion of our existence and thought process becomes a side dish, it’s on the back-burner while we eye it occasionally from the periphery if we get to otherwise it comes back to the front facial. It is a constant, sapping energy and mental/emotional resources and needing some salve to temper the anger and resentment; grapes of bitterness.
Few moments over the years I have had the luxury of not thinking about my status or position or skin in the current world. Brief pauses where I was just a person, nothing more nothing less. They tended to get muddied as some “person of whiteness” quickly found a way to remind me, often while I was minding my business. Many out there will not believe that but it’s okay that not every one likes reality, doesn’t dip their toes in the cold, harsh ocean surrounding us. It is forever an art of patience and cognitive distancing.
The mind doth wander when amidst the clouded air
The eye speaks truth when mouth is snapped
Inner truth is respite for these outer trappings
My body screams and wrenches
My mind does shriek for lacking measured words
I have no mouth and I must scream