To my gunsmoke night
choking and coughing sulfur and lead,
To my grey looming dawn
heralding fire on the horizon,
To my mucus filled gutter
highways that never end,
To the 20 dollar bills that float free with the wind
and the bullet in the back of my head:
To the opium wars abroad
and the coke wars at home,
To the power structures you buy into
when actually, they buy into you,
To my beloved family
who will all die before their time
To the murdered gangster laying on the corner
victim to a fuckin pig’s nine..
To the anguish of algebraic love
and a punch with a kid skin glove,
To all the crooked and queer
forever lost and forever finding the way,
To the last of the pure pebble shores
that disappeared before I was born,
To all the people who no one has ever cared about
I don’t care about you either, but who cares?
And if your drink hasn’t soured by now
you’ve likely never slept on the ground
Under rain imagining yourself
a dead image projected across the world.
But reality must somewhere thrive
and when I wake up I’ll find
Two new drinks, one for my dreams
and one to fill the hole left by the past.
To all the slumlords sleeping on tempurpedic
and all the tenants a paycheck away from the street,
To the patience with clipped wings
and the silence that burns holes in my skin,
To everyone drugged up and kept in boxes
and to the wardens and accountants that put them there,
To you and me as we plan our escape
to the place where the sweet water flows.
To all the soldiers with ticks
down for any battle except the last,
To all the yuppies crying
and the opium addicts lying,
To socialized medicine
and all the countries that are medical experiments,
To Robin Hood, the 40 Thieves
and the pirates of the anarchist seas.
Let’s not fuel the system that is
with the power of our speech,
It’s not hard to win a revolution
to what could be!
Featured in the premier San Francisco print creative arts periodical Synergy Zine.