Don't Be Food

If I Had To Say Goodbye

 If I had to tell the world
     goodbye today

     and I didn't have anything
     to say

     would you think I didn't 
     appreciate the stay

     If I had nothing at all to
     say

     perhaps the words spent a
     lifeline 

     trying to convey

     what silence knew

     maybe the world 

     never ask for a farewell 

     naybe if I were honest 
     enough to say

     It's a breath of fresh air

     to be leaving hell

     but maybe 

     those aren't the right 
     sentiments

Backdrop

You don't need to know how to tell time

but you need to know how to read the sign on the clock

Some eyes look straight through the glass

Others watch the change  in the reflection it cast 

The Pit

smokeout in the backyard 
grandpa burns the ribs again

someone said orange juice
someone said lemon juice
someone said vinegar

someone said sugar
someone said honey

someone said marinade
someone said seasoning
someone said rub

someone said that's not enough
someone said that's way too much

someone said mustard

someone said Worcestershire
someone said what's your sister
someone said wishsheerer

someone said the fire is too high
someone said you got to kindle it

someone said brush it
someone said dip it
someone said flip it

someone said let it sit

someone said spray
someone said sprinkle

someone said they're done

someone said it's about time

someone said my stomach 
is touching my spine

someone runs up...

Where The Concrete Sighs

before the word before breath is lent before the straight and narrow line became the opposite of sin we stood upon the boundary of the heaven sent the gate is thin the air is split dividing ancient myth from modern wit sifting wheat among the tears getting a whiff of incense caught inside the city squares the fracture of life is where history lies and truth lies nowhere but at the center of believe lies the truth about deception truth cannot mimic a lie it leaves no tracks it bends no lines IT IS WRITTEN is written on the sign yet human hands rewrite the grand design in sidewalk chalk where children play outside we walk the stroll and scroll on our phone as if no one's inside yet we are home most of the time stepping to the rhythm of sirens and chimes divided and distracted keeping pace with lawless times while influential influencers from hell get paid in full to promote crime rapping and tapping into yung minds to go out and cross lines gon' windup in a cell gon' end up spend...

To Be Continued...

before the line could ever run before the square was planned a single dot of hidden fire lay sleeping in the sand a seed without a root a star too far to see a punctuation of  life's punctuation "to be" occupying no space at all making no outward sound holding the weight of the universe before shapes were found the page is blank until a dot touches down one millisecond before an idea is born a point a punctuation of mortal life a punctuation "to be" below a silent shield against the coming strife a secrets point reveals before the tongue can form a heaven or a hell upon the parchment fate where willed ink is but blood of thought unspilled a pair of dots a cosmic paradox the definition of anticipation to break the silent genesis turns a symbol of death into a symbol of birth behind a frozen period no life can breathe at all it locks the ink in iron chains shuts the open door and leaves one pacing back and forth across the barren floor the entry the exit the a mountain pe...

The Fortification

tore out pages I didn't want to read let the ink dry didn't want it to bleed gave it everything I got didn't want it to need had to make some dough so I had to knead planted seed had to weed fix the fence mix cement stack some bricks built a wall of defense dust on my boots sweat on my brow no turning back no stopping now lay down the track pour out the steel spinning the gears turning the wheel shadows they creep wind starts to howl eyes in the dark wolves on the prowl let the rain fall let the storm blast built it to stand built it to last smoke in the air ash on the ground silence is loud no one around checking the gates locking the chain washing my hands clear of the pain seeds that I hid start to take root blossom to life bearing the fruit look at the crown look at the scars counting my blessings under the stars now it's all up to par 

Mr. Lowe

to a great poetic griot
who's presence was felt
who's pressence is missed
a teacher who taught 
who spoke words he meant
who's kind words meant 
more than the ink it took
to write poems and haikus
that shall forever live

Feeling

the shape of your face 
reminds me of a perfect 
mold of clay

pressed against my fingers
but it leaves a heavy ache

I try to trace the lines of 
us before they smooth away

soon it's gonnva rain and
muddy the promises we made 

we try to hold it together
regardless of the weather
forecast

our vow to make it last is
just an oath in the past

the clouds are rolling in 
turning everything gray

we're running out of road
maps to trace a perfect day

you went ahead instead but
in time I'll find the thread

to sew a perect reunion
that won't tear again 

The Lion and the Sun

Every dawn, the sky bled gold, and the king on the hill grew angry and bold. He shook his heavy mane at the rising light, screaming at morning to give back the night. He claimed the high peak as his earthen throne, ruling the grass and the shattered stone. To him, the sunrise was a challenger's face, an uninvited stranger in his sacred space. So he bared his teeth and let loose a roar, wagging a useless, prideful war. For years, the great sun simply climbed up the sky, ignoring the beast with a bright, blinding eye. It warmed the cool plains and it guided the herds, paying no mind to the predator’s words. But pride, like a weed, only deepens and grows, and the lion’s loud fury became a grand pose. He thought that the sun rose because he allowed it, that his majestic roar was the anchor that bound it. Then came the noon of the ultimate day, when the sun stopped ignoring and started to play. No wind stirred the acacia, no shadow could hide, as the heavens flung open their fur...

The Cup

they say he asked for the 
cup to pass
but I don't think he was
asking not to die
I think he held the future
in his hands
and wanted to remain
touchable by fear

we do the same in the
quiet mornings
staring into dark liquid
of another day
a hand holding fait

we hold it in wating rooms
clutching styrofoam 
in our palms watching the 
coffe go cold while the
bad news settles

the cup was never the 
problem
knowing what is in it was

but what good is a vessel
if it cannot hold what it
means to be human?
perhaps every cup we pour
is just a future asking 
to be lifted