Blisters

Cut out on my feet –
cigarette burn rounds–
from city streets
that used to greet me
with imitation fireflies
and flights of fancy –
dizzying and glorious.
Now cracking and porous
my heels no longer
enough to support
–me –

Lo, lost, in this city
I knew –
So well –
It’s a hell

from the second you left
familiar became terror
and all I could want
is to escape –
walk away searing
in the heat –
I burn my feet
on the streets
that used to love me.

America is my Daddy

America, old and erected
pierces the skies
over New York.
From his towers
he cries out orders
and sets the standards
for ruling suburbia.
He gives me the dollar
for new toys from China
and stamped on my forehead
is where I’m from
and I’m not his son.
I’m not his favourite,
he turns his back
while I eat cold soup
from a Campbell’s can.
I try to talk to him,
my voice is squashed
under the darkness of Africa.
I reach out to America,
because he has stardom,
golden gods and goddesses
of the silver screen.
I breathe in his smoke
when he grabs his lover’s ass
before he leaves
for his work in the machine.

Daddy don’t leave me,
Daddy listen to me.

He came, he conquered,
he fathered the world.
Master of the house,
his house of whiteness
and discipline and order.
He likes it in missionary,
His missionaries invade
and take gold, diamonds and gods
for his mistress.
He thought I never saw,
distracting me with new toys
and things that sparkle
like Hollywood’s stars.
Those new age storytellers
liars and tricksters, his fools.
My Daddy is cheap,
I heard he steals
and bullies
I heard he doesn’t love me
and he never will.

 

 

Smoking Starlight

Watching souls drift into the verse.

I wrote this line this weekend. I was really quite raucously drunk, but it was reasonable since my best friend was visiting from way out of town. After a roller-coaster of a week I welcomed the break. We had a great dinner, which was mostly liquid. I was absorbing the positive vibes of a guy I met, he’s HIV positive but honestly one of the happiest people I’ve ever met. In company like that I found no reason to be upset. We ended up in this little tucked away place, which bordered between cheap and artistic.

I found myself lounging on a couch with chickens clucking nearby. It’s safe to assume that I was outside. Although chickens indoors may have heightened what I was feeling. A sensation that I’ve been feeling for a while, and it’s hard to explain. It’s as if reality is cracking, and thick wafts of a dream state are leaking in. It’s like nothing is really real, everything is only pretending to be solid, but at any moment it could totally transform into something else.

I realised I’d probably drank way too much, and the hookah that I was puffing on was not helping either. With each exhale, waves of smoke flowed out of my lips. I became light headed as I watched the smoke float into the sky and into nothingness. I felt as if my thoughts were doing the same thing. Then it wasn’t just my thoughts but my whole being, dissolving into its surroundings. I turned my head to look at my friend and I felt no distinction between where I ended and he began, and honestly I thought nothing of it… I just existed.

Staying in the moment is becoming difficult, I’m in my head too much, and my head is fuzzy most of the time. It’s becoming difficult to see what’s dream and what’s reality.

Deep breath… And I’m back… And I scribble down that one line. And I feel myself drifting into the universe again