Thursday, April 26, 2012

Meat

a woman was grieving over her lost cat 
thats when she met him 
the garlic was first on the purchasing lists
the lone cub
high ceilings
Her Majesty 
Her Love
Time is a moving image
running the pages on fingertips
so immediate
direct. love. 
Stonewalled by mine. 
If we could only prostrate. 
The shelving is key. 
To sustain such movement. 
Bedcast on the island. 
humbling to find 
the universe
under your nose
waiting for you to call her, 
and her, and her. 

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Colors


I dont want to be color blind I love color and pay it mind, 
coffee my fingers on its grind 
and make it hustle like desire. 
I know about color and color knows about me.


I sleep inside every shade. Mother its every contour
and die before every stroke.
Color is my revenge against wearing a handicap.
Against the discrimination of my father.  

U ask me to be polite
ignore the contrast of attributes 
and move on with my life in black and white
but I carry no veil
I see color, I dont see your silence to polarities 
I a m everywhere in between 
with everyone ever seen

bountiful colors
graphed in texture and joy
brilliance and blood memory
all poured in the melting pot of hearts
colors
that i place no judgment upon. 

If I Could Leave...

if I could leave the country today, I'd go to where people smile at their misfortune.
To where the doors stays open for the beggar and the thief,
the paper man or the bread man,
To where they wake before sunrise, sweep your sins into heaven
and commence the days work.
I'd go to where people listen to announcements.
To where tea and coffee is warmed over wood fire.
To where the updates are brought by the birds, the wind, the sky,
the stories of people simply stopping by to take a rest, before they
take off to whatever servitude they must attend to.
I'd go to where daughters live with their grandmothers and
sons go to work with their fathers.
To where men drop what they are holding to help push a car,
To where children sit on laps of strangers when the bus is too packed,
To where everyone grows old with war, and young with resilience.
If i could leave the country today, i'd leave to where women are modest and trust their men,
To where men are honest and trust their women.
I'd go to where the contradictions of society are unknown to me,
so that i can feel
like i left somewhere
and arrived somewhere new,
just like that day i barely remember
where we left home to come to Canada.
Or that other day I barely remember,
the day I was born.


Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Crime Bill

CRIME BILL

I'm a fuck up. I should be punished. I need to be forgiven. Dark shadows are often striking amongst the indiscriminant scope of lightning.
How do we manage the contrast of the light inside us, and the dark that surrounds it.
How do we express our jurisdiction?

I fuck up. Sometimes in major ways.
Miseducate my native heart to an illiterate level.
Then when I've realized I've spilled the corn milk, I clean it with the same rag I used cleaned my wounds.
To me it was the first thing I didn't understand...
so I called it my first nation.

I'm a fuck up. That's why I spit bitumen.
Trying to pick pedals from a white lotus only to see I'm plucking feathers from a white dove.
I thought it was my learning disability only to find out it was the teachers fault.
The preachers fault. Steven's fault. He needs to be punished. But what he is asking for is forgiveness.
Promising to eliminate fear on the streets by alienating the serene tears of peace.
Promising to bring music to our communities then giving us blue and white glock-n-peels
that only play music to our mother's fainting. Panting. Asking God to forgive us.

What shall we do with such a deviant? Written on every page of the Quran. Sold at every intervention.Inherent in your mother's mind is the secret to redemption.
The streets painted with her name are the safest streets in the galaxy.
But I fuck up. And I don't live on that street.
I'm being punished.
Cuz I don't know any better that what this hand charging down on me has taught me.
Punishement is debated under jurisprudence while forgiveness pickets outside.
Compassion is calling for the return of due diligence
because the moderates are the true militants.

I'm a fuck up. I should go on a hunger strike.
File a galactic class action suit against the advocates dressed in pinstripe suits
My wind pipe is loot. I sin tight. Cooth.
Live from the booth I transmit mistakes and errors so you buy my songs with chains and terror.
Lying men write about punishment while honest slaves write to forgive. I fucked up. So I dig for forgiveness. I dig for repentance.
Through the mountains of cyclical time I dig for acceptance But as a minor, I am being hauled up for strict punishment despite me being a child.
An innocent fuck up who is doing no better than the crooks who pump iron fists and spew forked salivaa.
I'm only alive today as a guarantee
so I write mandatory sentences.

No pardon for those who beg their pardons.
Down the drain is where the spartans are taking us,
I wanna fuck it all up. Shove the gavel up your honors pussy for being so vile and raunchy. Raw and frigid.
They write laws but us who walk with God know that fucking up is a law,
and without cliches in mind, Allah forgives and is the law.
I write For my love of weed and women, my love for my friends who pimp and carry crack rocks in their denims, for the pusher without a choice and the woman without a voice. For the love of crime and ego, for the love of police raids and
sawed off shot guns.

For those who appropriate judgement while the meek inherit the earth.
For these accelerated days of pride and shame, of ego and flame,
I say I do not want to live in a place that values punishment over compassion, uniformity over the asessment of of context and circumstance. I only wanted forgiveness to be our penance but it appears we are fuck ups. And we are being punished, rather than being forgiven. --------------------------------------------March 13th, 2012.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Death on a First Date

Can it be that it was all so simple than?

Things inside of us would stubbornly thrive and the heart would hallucinate being a liver instead. Tonight we break bread over carefully placed candleholders

shaped like your mountanous figure.

We have danced with many figures before but none more vivid than your breath on my neck.

Is it the wine or the time?

No one figures they will shed blood the first night anyways. Murder on the first date is not recommended, but it just so happened, that we killed anything in site.

In spite of the anti spree romance we have been gerrymandered to partake...
we were merciless.

Any and all livings things existing to keep us from extending our love past the parameters of death, shall perish on this first date.