
i want to breathe your
pain in kiss it til it’s gone
i want to sell my
soul in exchange for
the burning to dissipate
and close the sores of
time that festering
have stolen away beauty
from your spirit’s light

i want to breathe your
pain in kiss it til it’s gone
i want to sell my
soul in exchange for
the burning to dissipate
and close the sores of
time that festering
have stolen away beauty
from your spirit’s light

hey it’s me
walking the street
mid day time
end of summer
meteopolitan smoggy air
how are you
maestro viejito hermoso
noticed he’d fallen
sweet weeping child
or is it
you haunting me
either way i
need to say
there’s thunder sobbing
up from throat
in the sudden
downs of life
he sits there
back to me
but back when
i sat there
too stoned to
hide my face
there is no
art in suffering
beauty estranged in
white soiled nothingness
grace crosses street
no one to
touch his shoulder

we the people are our own R. Murdochs when necessary

afternoon cool wind corn oil scent tree leaves sway cars faraway honk ambulance sirens battle calls debris from those with poisoned veins the pain of their souls the cement has stained dying roses petals shrinking in the sun aging red turned purple bruise pupil trapped in a beam of sun lunch time at the school their joy began innocence fleets with every breath ancient calendar reborn again

i too want a president who has cried at night wondering where bread will come for their babies tomorrow a president who has leukemia addicted to crack and who goes days without eating lays on the concrete because a roof is unaffordable this president must outrun the voices in their head that tells them to eat rat poison my president must know the feel of a baton beating on their skull for not having money to enroll in Princeton or Harvard and being sentenced to perpetual poverty they must definitely have the wherewithal to spend 12 hours in line at the county office to fill out a five foot tall stack of forms to be considered to qualify for a monthly $225 benefit to pay for the mandatory American dream among other qualities this president must know the stench of a 5 day corpse with cracked ribs no hope who the system failed and blew off it will come in handy to know what it’s like to be called a bitch faggot slut wet back whore nigger spic camel jockey cracker and gook to feel their veins run cold on frightful nights of waiting in deserted bus stops being cat called by pimps with machine guns ready to claim and capitalize on your pussy and i want the president who will never forget that the boss are we the people who know what its like to live day and night under the above circumstances
* inspired by the great Zoe Leonard


her eyes golden filled
look at it its burning bright
sun on her windows
bury me standing feet
rooted nowhere sleep eludes
me walking forever before
Cain’s sin gave rise
to grief that flows
my blood in history
am i not a
star child too nomad
in the mystery of
God like child in
birth to surf the
skies where serpents lay
in slumber this universe
was made for multiple
stars to shine at
smiles so bright that
return the favor blindly