Debriding the Wound

I woke up this morning and found the wound
Was larger than I thought
The bruise had bloomed and ballooned,
Burbled and burst, oozing white hot – live action Montserrat.

A primal scream then lodged itself deep inside my throat,
With parted lips aching to shout – only a gurgle and sputter eked out,
I pointed to him frantically – the wolf attired in scapegoat skins,
But I was just a downed spitfire, launched into a tailspin.

With one eye open, I stopped to examine the tear,
Shaking – afraid of what I might find there,
It was work so painstaking – pulling back the many layers,
But then I was surprised to find only whispers of soft and fearful prayers.

See somewhere along the way we left them behind,
Forgot to listen, forgot to bring them on our ride,
Forgot their families, attacked them handily,
For backwoods faith and ideals of community,
For blue collar jobs in a land of opportunity,

Forgot their education and then treated them stupidly,
This, this is how we killed unity,
Acting like cancer patients without immunity,
Treating them like filoviridae – no impunity.

So if, if we want to make repairs,
See past the hate, stare down the crosshairs,
We have to begin here at the bottom of the laceration,
Begin where the discourse first lapsed into stagnation,
Begin at the base of alienation,
Begin with love as our declaration.

Election Night

Election Night

Each bipartisan manifestation
Seems worse than the previous generation’s
Always speaking in generalizations,
Spewing reams of hate with elation.

Wag your finger at me, talkin’ ‘bout sovereignty
Saying it doesn’t concern you – well Pardon me,
See what you might not realize is that your policies
Create polarities – with potential for collective insolvency.

In a world increasingly permeated by globalization,
One run by all these multinational corporations,
Governed by intangible treaties and international arbitration,
The impact of your vote ripples far beyond your nation,
And I would be foolish to say leave us out of your equation.

So hear our plea – from neighbors and friends overseas,
You are better than this Dump Trumpkin sleaze,
You are a forest of diversity and he is Dutch elm disease,
You are healthy and he is a plasmodium-riddled anopheles,
You are stronger together – not divided on your knees.

Never without

Never without
Thoughts for bus rides, from bike rides. 

I found solace in the law of conservation of energy –
In decomposing and dissecting, the stagnant ideology
that in death there is only lifelessness and cremation,
Or salvation, for those among us who can fathom that incarnation.

No, I found solace in the law of conservation of energy –
In knowing this sack of marrow and heme,
Will one day teem with critters feasting my slow extirpation,
Who too will end as glitter – subsumed into this cosmic creation.

But I, through the belly of the worm, and the mouth of the sparrow,
I, the antihero, will be returned to the light, on the wings
Of a hawkling, Or on a head of wheat – a field pharaoh,
Or, cutting the heat in my own valley of kings, a cooling effervescent spring.

No, I found solace in the law of conservation of energy,
In knowing I could find you all around me, riding the waves of serendipity,
You – your electrons, your ups and downs, joined this planetary reverie,
Yet you are still here, still beside me – vibrating in the air I breathe.

With love from a conspirator – BLM

With love from a conspirator – BLM

How many black bodies must bleed,
Before we lead, before their blood stains our skin,
With a future so grim. Before our collective conscience
Collects a conscience, and acts on this criminal indifference,
And calls the plays out – scene one racism,
the schism, scene two another murder by the blue,
Scene three the scream – did you hear her? Watching the life
Empty out of her lover; watching silently as they killed
Just another brother. Except that Sterling was a father, and
So many more things – not just his color. Except his name was Castile,
His death, our chance to storm Bastille. Take your lips
To his service – scream with purpose, cry injustice, be a comrade,
Let them know we can’t be had. Deafen them with the fire that burns
On your lips and turns, in your stomach and let them see the tears
Dammed by the damned. Use whiteness in solidarity,
A shield of humanity. Because how many black bodies must bleed,
Before we rally in this time of need, before homicide becomes
Genocide – and they cart away more friends of color; more teachers and
Doctors. How many lights must be smothered, before we thunder:

Black and brown lives matter.

Follow me down the rabbit hole:

What can white people do:

Guardian’s Feature on Police Killings:

Doctor Shot on way to mosque:

Amazing spoken word:




Poetry Month Day 3. For Erin, A Poem about lost socks and unicorns.


Dust it off and climb inside, we’re going on a fantasy ride,
Through the drum, hear the thrum,
Past the lint screen, there standing on the green,
Can you see it? The bee in mannschaft football kit,
Or just near, in the clear, a purple zebra wearing headgear,
Soft step dance, listening to eurotrance,
Chilling with Lance the unicorn, sporting Mohawks freshly shorn,
And he with a single scarlet sock rolled over his horn,
Snuggled in tight, keeping him warm.

Few know about unicorn vulnerabilities and ungulate sensitivities,
From Dr.Ewe we can learn a thing or two, about their penchant
for David Tennant, and their aptitude as Superintendents,
And their love of cupcakes, and well-planned jailbreaks,
And their fear of the dark parks and Eurasian skylarks,
And their need to occasionally borrow, a sock you would
Inevitably forego, to protect their magical marrow,
And give life to tales told over marshmallows.

Data Collector

Data Collector

I am a catalogue of souls, your souls,
Of snapshots and moments, the millisecond when
Divine comedy tugged at your lips,
And ripped back my eyelids,
when we found common ground
Simply sitting on the same staff,
Admiring Ja Rule, ya Discovery,
Of trenches dug under irises and your dreams –
Spoken by a tongue tap dancing on oaks,

I read the songs of lives lived and lies lived,
I enter your stories into a catalogue of sorrows,
You drowned, you deported, you detained,
Down the margins, I flea with you frantic,
Though bullet riddled buildings and bombed out squares,
Past that house, once yours, now his and –
I carry with me your heavy hearts,
And your hopes and dreams for tomorrow.

So long, Jack

Skin does not make a citizen,
You say you want out, but they’ll remain in,
They are not other, these mothers, fathers,
Sisters, brothers, reflected in the mirror,
Your fear – budding, infecting, ineffectual,
This antintellectual counter-science counterfactual,
Alliance of defiance trumping logic,
Attending to words demagogic, seeking freedom,
From the union, that has held you strong, forged by
My oma’s swan song, made to correct a generation’s wrongs,
Been too long, and grown too faint,
War paint faded, generations jaded, listen close –
Can’t you hear? United we stand. Divided life is less clear.