9/30 Strike

(Some of my 30/30 are poems written years ago finally reworked or edited. This is one of those.)

Strike

Wedged against a boulder scraping at flesh and bone.

The pain of getting to know what comes next,

what that look in your eyes actually means,

and what part of that definition will be left with the wreckage.

Wearing silence a halo pierced through with desire with hope.

Little running motions up my spine. Blood filtered through

the promise of forgotten promises.

When our lips first met in that pure place. Wild dogs bayed

at an unseen moon. Our teeth clashed and bit the way we

reached inside of each other. A forgone conclusion an eventual tumult.

We left our innocence wiped it away sweaty intentions.

Pride to proud to mention in that moment.

Clumsy and messy with all the moving parts and I knew I would not survive.

You held me too close, broke me, as if I were a fever.

4/30 Beam

Beam

she smiled at me

and I thought

what a nice smile

disarming in it slow reveal

a slide across teeth

beaming crookedly adorable

hand slapped on thigh

because

actually slapping yourself

in public

could be seen

as what it is not

and is at the same time

just a stinging reminder

that’s all

that  is all you want

in that moment

a reminder of how sliding

into a smile like that could     bite

like how good it might feel    all over

you have fallen into too many

the saliva stinging memories

you wish you never had

some you wish you had again

but you have no desire to time travel

to be somewhere you have already been

so you feel the sting

the slap

the tread carefully

you have a habit of running

chambers first

maybe this time

this time maybe

you want to go slow

recognize your own navigation

lead with something other than

what’s been broken a time too many

to count

i know

i fell off. said i was going to update. i lied. not on purpose, but what are you gonna do?
here is # 15 NO HOMO. I wrote it in response to hearing that phrase and well...here ya go



No Homo

A member of the genus Homo,
which includes the extinct and extant species of human beings
characterized by superior intelligence,
articulate speech, and erect carriage
also a loanword,
a prefix,
meaning the same


that can’t be
from the moment we are evicted from the womb
we are taught, instructed, threatened
to be different
draw your own lines in the sand
create your own existence
be unique
be different

if we were all the same
our moon would orbit the same earth
our rights equally protected
because we are the same
but we are different
not the same
or
no homo

no superior intelligence
no articulate speech
no erect carriage
no species of human
no sense
the words
make no sense
to me

well,
I guess it makes just about enough sense
as if my students
arms raised in protest
thesauruses
dictionaries
strewn about the floor
spines broken

they roil
overcooked alphabet soup
letters sloshing off their sides
fists punching the sky
making their agenda known
declaring in loud voices

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN
THERE ARE WORDS THAT SOUND THE SAME
BUT SPELLED DIFFERENTLY
HAVE DIFFERENT MEANINGS

AND THOSE OTHER WORDS
THOSE WORDS
DRESSED IN NEWSPRINT AND BINDINGS
THOSE WORDS THAT ARE SPELLED,
LOOK, SOUND
EXACTLY LIKE
THOSE OTHER WORDS
BUT HAVE THE AUDACITY TO MEAN
DIFFERENT THINGS

THEY ARE PRETENDING TO BE SOMETHING
THEY ARE NOT
WE WILL NO LONGER HONOR THEIR PRESENCE
WE WILL NO LONGER SPEAK THEIR SYLLABLES
NO HOMONYMS
NO HOMOGRAPHS

NO HOMO
NO SAME

and well, that makes sense

when I hear those words in your song your poem
I get the feeling you are
declaring your own agenda
expressing your fear of sharing sameness
with people who sexually prefer
the same people
those
no hetero's

you are roiling
overcooked alphabet soup
the letters sloshing over your sides
lqbtqai
I stop listening
because your world is so small
your views are so narrow
there is no room for me

a member of the genus Homo,
which includes the extinct and extant species
of humans beings
characterized
by my superior intelligence
my articulate speech
and this erect carriage

and you are right
we are no homo
we are not the
same

November 30/30 #1

This is kinda all over the place

Shelf-life (Nov. 1/30)

Stoic sits on a shelf
Aged with ferocious unfocused eyes
He stills truth
Steals time
Tucks it between his teeth
Bites down on the word sissy
Once worn as his name
Wiped away with punch line fists
Sensitivity decorating the floor
Swept under rugs
By wayward domestic dogs
Lapping up what’s left
Confrontationally straight forward
I am angry with those starters of wars
Hijacking my safety
And hallelujah tears have no place on my landscape
No claim to this face
Because he, my father
And he can’t smell pussy on my breath
He reminds me daily that I am no man
His strong provider legs took it out on my chest
He burned the fruitcake cooking in my mother’s nurturing
I refuse to hold the softness of her
She doesn’t understand that decency
Gets you gone
Good posture
Only puts your face bulls eye level for blows
Ass kicked in locker room, street corners or alleys
He reminds me I am no man
Can’t smell pussy on my breath
So he makes it my middle name
My mother’s baby boy
Wrapped in soft, sensitivity and good posture
Can’t live in the skin she wrapped me in
And the world won’t accept me
Unless I’m hard
So I’ll be stoic
Put my emotions on lock down
Place myself on a shelf
Out of reach
Until I expire

Number 1a Implacable

It is said that if no one hates you for the things you do then you’re not doing it right


you reach high
arms lifted in mock prayer
believing in errors
snap judgments and omissions
holding the attention of tiny minds and
your spurious attempts at compassion
falls short like your sight
eyes on the prize, you preach
kingdom of god ,you threaten

God is Love

Inhale

God hates Fags

exhale

the contradiction doesn’t stutter your speech
you speak proudly of God as my enemy
tells me how thoroughly he hates me
self appointed messenger of the all knowing
all seeing, all encompassing

Fred Phelps

I don’t believe in every thing
For instance,
I have never believed in hate filled manifestos
maligning the dignity of family,
smattering copious amounts
of acrimonious bullshit
smeared on poster boards
standing outside of funeral homes
where broken parents
bury broken soldiers

but I do believe,
that if God needed a hype man
he would not have chosen you
your penchant for instigation makes you cliché
because you lack the rudimentary concept of human
deems you behind the times
and God’s gonna need someone who can relate to the masses
I mean what the fuck good is a hype man with no people skills
your loose affiliation with honesty
doesn’t match that whole Bible thing
he would want someone who can read
someone who understood the complexities of his master plan
someone who can spell words bigger than FAG and HATE
someone whose creativity isn’t limited to illusory words of faith

no Freddy, you are no Hype man to God
you are indeed a hater
and because you believe you have the balls of an angel
you decided to hate at the highest
and I have to say Phelps
I must be doing something right
if you are hating me on the same level as the Lord

My GOD!
I must be doing everything right!

everyone should have a hater Fred
and thanks to you
We all do