Caribbean Festival Shooting

Caribbean Festival Shooting

There they were

scattering like roaches

Filling spaces between tents

 

Pop

Pop

Pop

 

One way in and one way out

Roaches with long arms and legs

Running for their lives

 

The sides fold down like paper

Green spikes of night rise up

Barbed wire bending

 

Crumpling beneath fingers

A hole made from nothing

Pop

 

One way in and one way out

Back the way they came 

A lost one unable to hear the maternal cries

 

“Please make way for the ambulance, someone is hurt”

It repeats though ignored

Steps slow

 

Sweaty clown faces 

Red tinted legs

Huddle tightly on a long trek back

 

Slowly moving 

Silence stretching

Reappear in tomorrow’s light? 

Led Me Here

After graduating from high school, it took me four years to move from Missouri to Florida. Four years to get away.

Being left behind scares me, still. 

Catapulted from the present to the past, I’m often held prisoner by my mind. 

Don’t let me go. 

Ever felt like you’re so happy you can’t do anything but cry? Tears of true joy fall, deep breaths get deeper, teeth like piano keys. It’s a wild look of jubilance. 

Fall in love. 

Girls should close their legs. Don’t let the man in, don’t let the Devil in, she said. 

How do you move an immovable object?

Isn’t it funny how leaving doesn’t always mean you’ve left? 

Just in case you didn’t know, contrary to your words, I know I can. 

Kites wave wildly through the wind in Missouri. Like Dreams, they snap free, and in their free fall they die. 

Let me go, please. Please?

My mind is a mystery to me. Often times I wonder if I’m too stupid to understand or if I’m just brilliant. 

Not everything the light touches is good. 

Obviously, things go well. They aren’t always bad. It ebbs and flows. Well, it ebbs more than it flows. At least it used to. Lately, the flow has pulled me along on a litter made from my hopes and dreams. There they are again…dreams. 

Possibly a good time to stop here as the further I fall into this deep hole the further I’d have to climb myself back out, later, when I’m lucid. Lucid? Lucidity? Ludicrous? Lame? Liar? Layered? Lucid.

Q …

R…

S…

T…

U…

V…

W…

X…

Y…

Z…

The words fill me up but I can’t make them come out. 

They strangle me, dark tendrils of ink wrap around my neck and fill my throat. Fill me up starting at my mouth, working down to my toes and out from underneath my nails. 

However, I can’t continue. The letters sit in their jar, waiting for me to put them in order, to assign them a meaning. 

Later, when I’m lucid.

Hometown

Home Town
Thick, glazed, grilled

Dark meat with burnt tips

Sweet mustard

Honey dippings

Sticky fingers

 

Wide sweeping pavement

Tall gargoyle like structures

Fountains made of hopes and dreams

Thick forests of green

Expansive fertile lands

 

Blue, green, yellow city streets

Music of the blues

Storefronts oen to canvased walls

Brick red schools

Metal bridges, glistening heat

 

Thick smog

Painful ice rain

Wispy winds that kill

Mounds of cold marshmallows fill streets

Booze hoppers in clogged feet

 

An Ode to Iris Giana

An Ode to Iris Giana

 

The pain was too much

It’s shard-like fingers tight around my limbs.

Stabbing through my heart

Spearing through my belly.

 

The fear held me fast

My mind on what would come next.

I could barely keep still

Hardly unexpected.

 

Just as I felt alone

He arrived and his face said it all.

I held back my tears

He held onto my hand,

 

And then you were there

Born before your time with wide open eyes.

Your tiny paper thin nails

Your soft translucent skin

 

Told you “I love you” before it was too late

So your soul would always know

Our hearts will always hold you

Although the pain is still too much