Posts in Category: Poetry

A scooter at midnight during the war

Down in San Bruno, California
there are renegades and vampires
running gun and overrunning every street.
There are always women in the crosswalks
shepherding their invisible children
to non-existent schools.
These women drink hard liquor for no pay,
because that’s their little piece
of The American Way.

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Their husbands and wives are all off at war,
there is always a war,
and they never know where the war is,
who the war is against,
or if their husbands or wives will ever come home.

This just in:
The Defense Department and Bar and Grill
just announced nobody from San Bruno, California
is on active duty in the war.
They lied to their wives and went drinking
in the next town over for several months
because their invisible children
are easy prey for vampires,
make too much noise when they die,
and they couldn’t face it.

San Mateo Avenue, San Bruno, California 2017

In my neighborhood…

This is our country now, this is our lives.

I saw a flag on a house

that does not usually fly one.

An elected official lives there.

I voted for her, hell yes.

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I’ve voted a shitload in my life.

I voted the last time,

the bad time

when the change we wanted

is the worst we could’ve imagined.

And I’m standing there

looking at this flag,

and the dog’s looking at me.

And I’m pretty sure

the dog’s asking “What in the FUCK did you people do?!!”

And, you know,

I love that dog,

I’ve known him for years,

but I hate the question.

Because I don’t have an answer,

and I’m not gonna like

the answer that comes.

(This is a real photograph, not staged, proudly taken in Brisbane, California on November 12th, 2016)

I am broken

I am broken

and I have been for many years.

I’m not some toy

you can take back to Hasbro

and say “This fucking thing is fucking fucked up.”

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They would laugh at you

and I would too.

I am not a toy.

I am a man.

And I hurt,

and I love,

(I love more than you know),

and I rage.

And I love you all, you are my life,

you are my Jesus,

but I am broken.

And I don’t know how to fix me.

So please

bear with me.

The doctors are coming in

with long, sharp stainless-steel tools

and they will probe me

and figure out what’s wrong.

There might be blood.

Sorry.

(Brisbane, California 2016)

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