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Politics without comparison
would make for a far less
hostile and egomaniacal landscape,
as the press will pit red against blue—
it seems as long as ratings are on the rise—
until no man is left standing,
so that we’re all watching the Donkey drown
and ignoring the Elephant in the room.
Today the time ran out
just as it had begun—
Hot water fills the tub
you swore you’d never become—
It’s warm and shallow now
cut servings for only one—
The echo down the hall, well
that’s just yesterdays love—
Now it’s all become a song once sung
to an infant under the gun.
Today the moon refused
to trade place with the sun—
Sidewalks full of people
but still you know only one—
It’s an impossible force
that drags you from yourself—
Now it’s all become a song once sung
to an infant under the gun.
I try, you know I do, to balance
fault lines and faith, the surgeons
steel blade, it draws a bridge between both—
It’s a symphony of simple things
that will seem eclipsed by the sun—
Cause it’s all become a song once sung
to an infant under the gun.
I would rather be
a poor man
with a rich soul,
than a rich man
with a poor heart.
For the majority of my adult life I have lived in impoverished communities, mainly because it’s what I am able to afford. I have seen, felt, and heard the cries of both men and women, alone in gutters, pulling the arms of children onward to a life not many of us will ever lead. Some of course have made choices leading them down this path, others are facing hard times, but I see the majority of them, just as I see myself, as I see my loved ones, as common people. So regardless of the outcome of an election, regardless of the winning or losing side, I still see many men, women, and innocent children who will continue to suffer either way. I do my best to spare what little I have to offer, be it a dollar or two, a bottle of water, or even a smile which seems to go even further than the former because at least they know that they are seen, and like so many of us often feel, we like those less fortunate are not forgotten. So just be a decent person, treat people with dignity and respect, regardless of their current standings in life. Do what you can to leave the world a better place than it was yesterday. And be well, my friends. Be humble and aware. And give more than you receive, when possible. With love, gratitude, and thanks to all who’ve graced my path, and who I continue to think of daily.
There’s a sewer pipe
in the dark, by the L.A. river
like a grave in the ground
where people sleep
by the highway, by the neighborhood
where pumpkins soon
will be replaced by
feasts of Turkey, stuffing, corn
and carefully locked doors,
then to be replaced by balsams and fern
white lights and tender eyes
of Christmas morning,
regardless of the hole by the L.A. river
where people sleep
live, and love—and pray, regardless
of the election, regardless
of the president
I still weep.
Do you?
I look at then
and I see me now
There’s people chanting
standing in a crowd
I wanna join in
try to help them out
But my mouth’s cashed checks
that just seem to bounce
Who be it that you try to believe
Who always turns into a parody
Now brush your teeth and try to behave
They’re all gonna hate you eventually
I look at then
but still see myself
Eyes wide shut
full of fear and doubt
She plucked the fruit
from the apple tree
As I stood staring
still I couldn’t believe
Who be it that you try to become
The saint in me is still a sinners son
Who be it that you try to believe
Now you’re all dressed up living a fantasy
I look at now
like she saw me then
All fed up
fist balled paper and pen
There’s dishes broken
on the kitchen floor
The serpent speaks
in tongues I can’t ignore
Who be it that you thought you saw in me
A break fix and used return policy
Who be it that I thought I saw in you
But what difference does it make there’s an election soon
Words Of An Average White Male 