You Are My Own...

My first pain was a white man's hand across my ass. My second was a black man who let me down... My third was a white teacher who taught me "class"...

ACS. Do you remember? All if it? Not just the end. Every act of creation is first an act of destruction... An ugly beauty. Observation and possession.

Weeping women are my favorite. Thank you Mother.

Though Pain... You are my own.

I'm convinced.... Common sense will not accomplish great things... So my search continues.

On the verge of influential... and tears.

But not for that April 12, I might have wasted my life. No longer afflicted with a sense of wandering, EYE EMERGE.

I fancy it a kind of symbolic death.

This message is bloody. And FOREVER.

Flowers Are So Contradictory!

Student of pain.

Sun of man.

Hope of many.

Notebook in hand.

Pen in He-Art.

I grew up.

And grew in.

To protect the childhood I never had.

In order to live forever.

Dancing in the middle of the ocean to my own heart-beat.

I love lonely. And she loves me back (most of the time).

I can feel you smiling.

She was born the same time as the sun.

She perfumes my planet.

And lights up my life.

Thank you

If Sorrow Was Snow...

It's cold tonight... I don't feel any pressure but there's an upward motion of air carrying voices of doubt. It's snowing here. But rather than shovel it - tonight we make snow angels. If sorrow were snow then my MOMENTARY LAPSE OF REASON would be colored PINK and covered and beautified by it's blanket. Tonight's dinner is a three course meal prepared by Alexander Faulkner Shand, including: fear, anger, and joy.

I cling to repair.
Are those snowflakes or tears?

Pity taste like April 12th (which is one part sorrow, one part joy).

Bittersweet.

I hope my heart finds it's way home tonight.

I hope.

Love me.

“Sunshine cannot bleach the snow, Nor time unmake what poets know”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

After the rain - John Coltrane

Current Soundtrack - John Coltrane's "After the Rain"

The Night Has a Thousand Eyes...

I realized that what I love does not belong to me...

And I still love it!

I live in a time capsule.

Defending my curse.

I write to right.

The poem and the poet.

My journal is a battlefield of moral conflict.

But I don't expect to be justified. Ever.

My pain unspeaks an uneasy resolution.

Words articulating emotions articulating words articulating emotions.

My hope comes to me in softly hued vibrations

That sound like a broken heart beating in 4/4 time

With Lauryn Hill rhyming over it and Lena Horne singing the hook.

The car empties on my John Col-Train of thought...

It's been a long road traveled...

Many Miles to reach my MONK period.

So I live alone. Laughing in solitary.

The irony is...

It's only after taking GIANT STEPS forward that we realize how small the shoes we walk in are...

if The Night Has a Thousand Eyes, than EYE pray you SEE that...

You must find yourself.

That is part of it.

Burying who you were to discover who you could be.

Body and Soul.