#mikebrown

I turn on the television set to a cbs all-seeng eyed lie, only seeing what I'm told to see. Drowning in a sea of the information age, without the information to save (the only real information we crave). Only told what I'm meant to hear as I'm lead like a steer to a McDonald's McDouble dollar menu struggle. Beef, it's whats for dinner as the police kill my brothers in the streets in some secret scheme, like from a bad "American Dream" we will never wake up to see. The All-seeing iphone strapped to a liberal white face disgrace in shock a people stood up for it's fallen son, even as the Sun falls on the "Land of the Free." I would leave, but this blood soaked sand is my home and without Us they win; they have always won with the deck stacked like bodies, their calling card. For me it is easier, my white skin a free pass to buy snacks at night without fright, but my brother has to fight for even this stupid right? Is this what America has always been? A land of sin? Of greed? Of blood and dead and slave? Take is the way we behave. Land where freedom rings the bell for another funeral of a nameless black man- except they have names now behind a #mikebrown, white girls tumblr screens becoming America's only true journalism. Irony? And ebony. A war of felony, perpetrated in Our neighborhoods. Where it always has been. The war on skin. If we read a black book we could find the numbers, the names. The people we would meet whispering words like MOVE and Black Wall Street. Police dropping bombs, but why would we bother to listen? We don't care about our brothers, our sisters. Our fellow humans in the streets standing up against our foes. How long until your child, your son or daughter lies next to Aiyana Jones? How long until you are throwing stones? How long until you are rotting bones because justice failed to see you with her blind eye? This same eye you turned, America, keeping your cool while drinking a Siren's non-fat-soy-light-iced-White-mocha. Drink it down America while the ship runs aground and listen to that sound of chanting in Ferguson- that is Liberty.

He comes to you at rest

with outstretched arm in judge-less greeting

beckoning, a light, a guide

dead and alive;

like you

a god, a demon

an angel in waiting

the ageless servant of the moon

with wings or horns adorned

his face a mask

comforting

leading you to the end

a new beginning

Death is his name

yet alive you follow

in darkness, through the hollow

toward the unknown lands 

of forever tomorrows

the path of the Psychopomp

I heard my favorite song today while lying in sleepy sheets.
The rhythm a beat steady and live and pumping.
We sang it together me and you and us.
A metronome disco techno throbbing thumping.
It felt warm and safe in those notes played
wrapped like arms around my waist.
Like yours, very much like your heart beating, your breathing.
Along with mine too, breath in air mingling dancing.
Like the good songs few words and simple.
Perfect syllables uttered in beat and time.

Coffee & Words

Chasing fulfillment
down a dizzy street
Each streetlamp dim
Anxiety suffocating
darkness
growing slim

A dream seems like sleep and awake forgetting
A sad smile replaces love in a lonely setting

A coffee and a few words is all that is between us