the smell of fresh bread
outside the biker’s clubhouse
warns me to beware
true story – a club with anti-tank stantions camouflaged with flowers used to take advantage of the bakery they were next to when cooking crank i remember fondly
Tag: Poetry
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man sits on his chair
watering the sun-baked lawn
the riots are over
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our lives were simpler
in the black and white movie time
reels were ten minutes
movie reels of 35mm film come in 1000 ft loads averaging about 10 minutes before a reload. There’s a lot of life to be captured in that time.
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Books wilting in heat
Overpiled library baking
Knowledge is sunburned
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Shovels fall
Silent in the night
The grave yawns
Tongue spilt dirt
As a mouth hungers
For meat
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how does looting stores
teach us to love one another?
theft is not justice
In Chicago, the downtown core and surrounding South and West corridors have been wilded. Mayor is understandably appalled.
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the protestor steps forth onto Michigan Avenue to fight for peace
the mother watches on television the city burn as she prays for peace
in this country, the war continues
with apologies to Christina Sng
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Country ‘tis of thee
Black oppression, White Fear
Going down in flames
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My city burns
Some asshole steals a cop’s horse
Galloping through the fires
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I run laughing, bills trailing behind me pennies from my pockets bounce
Blood streaming from holes I won’t let slow me down
Bright red footsteps leading them to me in a dance pattern maze
1 foot 2 foot step-step-step breath hitching in bike spoke chatter
I collapse in Arthur Murray massacre formation the procession now over
Robbing the last dance
Outlaw Poetry 