- Home > Archive: March, 2017
Cartwright got into his Steel Reserve 211 time machine.
Set the dial for “Random Chaos”.
He was greeted with a quick night stick to the ribs.
A square faced crew cut and a his K9 companion.
“Wake up. What are you doing’ here?”
“No, you’re up to more than nothin’, let’s see some ID.”
Even gluten free and ugly it speaks to me.
Of mornings filled with hope and evenings frenzied and lifted with laughter.
When the cold air makes leaving bed a contest.
You and I lay together with butter on our breath, tea and toasting a memorable now.
Let’s bake another loaf before our time has passed.
“Happy 420 Day!” said Eve with a shit eating grin.
Got her edibles and had plans after work to get her buzz on.
Ruth, her grandmother was appalled.
“You need to talk to that child.”
“And say what?”
“Something. It melts your brain.”
“Sit her down and talk to her before she’s out doing heroin.”
Women Are the Orange Blossoms of the World
John Lennon wrote,
“Woman is the nigger of the world.
Yes she is, think about it…”
He had a point.
As offensive as it may be.
But women are also what brings
each and every one of us
into the world.
The time has come to praise,
thank and respect them
as they naturally deserve.
Happy International Women’s Day!
It would then speak from deep inside of
my heart and mind to you and yours.
We’’d share the narrative that we have always had together. One that transcends time, age, race, and gender
and tells our collective archetypal tale.
Like bards of old we would be made of
(Descendent Nutritive Algorithms)
Precocious five year old version of Jesus in the Quran.
First, he purified disturbed water with words alone.
Then, took mud clay and sculpted twelve sparrows.
Father Joseph was none too pleased with his Sabbath creativity.
But unfazed, the boy clapped his hands and commanded the birds to take flight and remember him.
Off they went squawking.
(Sometimes, besides telling a good story, I just want to get the Islamaphobes all riled up.)
Evolution punishes bad decisions.
And sometimes bad luck intervenes and does the deciding.
There will be no next generation after this failed experiment.
Johnny was disappointed, but took it in stride.
Knowing it’s a numbers game.
That impulse to scale the concrete wall sealed the jewel’s fate.
Not everyone deserves to become resurrected a butterfly.
Polly had some.
Left by her handsome man friend from Georgia.
They were sour, salty and almost enough sweet for you to hold out hope.
But the next one didn’t get any better.
“Just like a man” she thought,“They look good, but when you actually have a taste, it’s all bitterness and lost potential.”
Said Lizette, wistfully.
Referring to the farmer who fancied her and delivered grass fed for her broth.
But she could also have been talking about her grandfather or father.
“The sins of the fathers” and such.
Sometimes, it’s more nuanced, not sins or virtues, just genetic fabric on which to build her empire of longing.