Butterfly Theory

locust sounds all around surround me with their native tongues
the words unfold into stories told of mankind’s living sins
my sisters and brothers of the swarm beat their wings in the summer’s winds
they tell me secrets of the world learned from the ancient virgin nymph
she unwinds a tale from African lands; the people and their suffering
etched inside her crystal wings centuries of slaves speak of their lament
the souls of our ancestors wrap themselves around a linen document
and with the joining of the two deliver messages directly heaven sent
we find the heart in a place that base existence on the subject’s shade of skin
the coarse black hair stands on end when beaten with horse’s whips
lashes unleashed on back and neck cause abuse felt by the next of kin
and from the scars rise bloody mounds resembling hand painted faces of children
eyes well with tears and water drops down rusty cheeks charred by the rising sun
the moisture left behind outlines a sketch of shuffling feet along the auction block
the step up to the hanging noose that many of them got
for feeling lost in a land not indigenous to their minds
now working on massa’s farms and paid just pennies for their time
to feed a family of light skinned children who don’t belong to the host
but instead an alien brood hidden from the old plantation’s ghosts
persecution of my people continues throughout decades of racial turmoil
time unfolds and a superior larva crawls from the tightly packed soil
ready to enforce the civil liberties given to you and I
Earl Little and Martin Sr. carried seeds of the future leaders; now angels in the sky
their voices moved an entire generation into marching and sitting down for a while
showing the nation that we as a people together are a force to be recognized
a people that cannot be thrown into the lions pit and torn from limb to limb
but instead one to learn from and invest a piece of future in
the growth of a people and persecution sometimes go hand in hand
but to know where we are headed we have to know where we’ve been
and now Barack emerges as the Ornithoptera Alexandrae
and the elders can now smile
for all the miles our people have traveled the snakes now have something
hard to swallow
from this man we all shall rise
the way the sun does;
everyday that we call tomorrow


- Flying

So he writes: watching the sun set against the backdrop of night. the lust of ebony drips from lips as he waits on the evening sky
He writes: of saturns and moons eternal bodies blessed with an occasion to share his first love
He writes: somber sonnets and silent soliloquies pressed against the fall air. like fingers in her hair he intertwines his words through space and time
He writes: of stars appearing as constellations along her spine as he connects the dots. seducing scorpio with a feather and making virgo smile
I write:
the night is my paper and she is my love. we dance together like two butterflies in flight along the path of forever. only stopping to rest on a cherry blossom to bask our wings in the moonlight.

sidewalk shaman

It happened to me
the wind that blows in between downtown buildings
"excuse me sir but do you have any change for the winter?"
clink, clink, clink
clink, clink, clink
he jingles his cup as I watch and listen
"excuse me sir/ma'am, but do you have any change for the winter?"
with each shake of the cup
the din of the change rattling
I'm drawn
he shakes and cries out
like an ancient shaman wearing ankle bracelets
while conjuring spells with a magic staff
beset on all sides with encrusted jewels
poor sidewalk shaman
his audience wasn't listening
burying their heads deeper into shoulders
escaping the cold bitter reality
continuing to ignore this young man and his pain
his cries for help fall on mannequin ears
a tune he has played for years
the call and no response from the mass of passer byes
hunger has taken his mind and body over
never had a chance, this homeless land rover
nothing to do but
turn and face the mirror
the result of the growing insult of being ignored/not treated as a human
then with tears in his eyes he turns in my direction
head pressed against the glass
heart beat logarithms etched into the reflection
I’m transported to a world all but mine for a short amount of time
in the split second of space that we share
we surf together on oxymoronic parallels of despair
that here...
amidst the regurgitated prosperity/no one seemed to care
in squalor forced to live
all of these words are his
with nothing left to give
but less answers
sidewalk shaman
oh you poor sidewalk shaman
my mind has witnessed enough
whirl your bullroarer
transport me back to my world
the reality of yours/too much
too much to take
not enough distance between what’s real and what’s fake
but wait
your reality was decided by Egyptian gods of fate
Shai, Meskhenet and Renenutet
like a child on a cross country trip
asking are we there yet
I want to be home
safe and sound
where I exist
…….all alone
I’m awakened by a familiar sound
clink click clink
the sidewalk shaman still spinning his instrument around
Sir can you spare any change for the winter?
and into his world
we all enter