Toxic Cure

smooth sensation
red and fluid
hard against the pain
soft against the mind
easy to swallow
and easy to cope with

why cant it always be just like this?
soft to the touch in everything that i do
my mind is foggy,
a mist of never happenenings
and what can be's
a mist of surprises
and secret desires

talk to me a little longer
tell me your secrets
let my heart be your refuge
and let me hide in your love

A Day in the Life of a Journalist

January 8, 2010

You see this world for what it really is
At last you see the shine and the grime the dumpsters and the buildings the gambling and the bidding of young executives and of prostitutes that have been in the business for too long You see the endless trash the cars whether they speed or crash the pedestrians as they walk even if they are doing it all wrong speeding and stopping halting and flaunting but they never do it right Next thing you hear are the sounds of the night the repetitive drawls of bus engines starting and breaking down the numerous shouts of drunk teens as they lose function of their motor skills the subtle quick inhalations of the smoker late for a meeting in town and the whispered prayers of the homeless as they hope to endure the winter chills
You read the headlines stories all just stories You read faces more stories to be told You read the nutritional information on the side of some menu there is no story there There are stories on the street but all you do is walk on
This morning I saw an accident Or the remains of the accident An ambulance in all its glory and the streets shouting a story There was Blood yet the doors to the vehicle were shut and I could not get Lady Gaga’s song out of my head but something inside knew the story before me would go on unsaid
You are now passing an electronics store with windows that run for miles and each television you can see has Tiger Woods and the list of his whores that runs for miles You see some people stop and stare and comment and shake their heads disapprovingly and you walk on that story should have been left unsaid
About one o’clock now your stomach grumbles and you hunger for a satisfying bite No need to fight the urge you want a burger a cheeseburger or maybe you feel wild and you want a double cheeseburger to surge in you and last until dinner later that night You know not to indulge though because the nutritional value of such a thing would be horrendous and you would then have to surrender to a gym membership Besides if you had that burger the homeless would still go hungry
You leave temptation and you are now on 10th An elderly woman is crossing the street and you feel like you should help and as you proceed you notice your shoe is untied and you let the moment of putting others first pass you by O why O why was your shoe untied at that exact moment in time She walked on leaving you behind and you are bent down tying and untying and retying and just tying away all your precious time
Now you walk on across the city to the riverside You pass by streets of stores just stores merchandise that are pointless and useless like a Snuggie as seen on t v or merchandise that are useful but unexplainably expensive like a pair of gloves or earmuffs You wonder whether you should buy some because of the winter chills you must endure It’s a test of endurance we all must face Yet you walk on
You pass by payphones and remember that talk you had with your grandfather when he was telling you about how in his day there were no such things as telephones so you had to make personal house calls if any story was to be told You pass by an empty shopping cart tied to a hydrant You pass by a pair of sneakers hanging from the telephone wires You pass by a bar and suddenly the street lights go on
From the street you can hear the roar of the soccer game as it plays on the flat screen t v inside the bar You can hear the grunts of disgruntled men who are sipping away their sorrows You can almost feel the pinches that the waitresses are receiving as they pass by the disgruntled men You see that one of those men happen to be a co-worker but you walk on because there is no story to share between you and him But a bar fight breaks loose and you are inclined to stay and see if there is a story
The chills the skills the town this place of no ups only downs this bar the lights shine eerily on the car you see you hear you feel the first punch the crack of the first jaw and the wobble in your knees This story might be one to please your boss But you walk on

You refuse to be a prostitute

a sad story

"Song of Myself"

(Inspired by Walt Whitman)

I rejoice in this; that every part of me is a tightly-knit part of you, And every part of you clings to me.

I sit in the winter snow, gazing at the falling blanket of bliss, observing others in their merriment; Children laughing and playing, parents talking and worrying and listening for the possibility of slips and cracked bones of their young ones.
In the morning, the sun rises over the building tops, shedding light on the city… illuminating the dark and bringing into light each and every occurrence. Soundly waking, doors locked and windows shut, yet the sun pokes through and it is a new day.
My eyes slowly open, distracted by dreams of the night before… and as I regain consciousness, the shouts of city-goers are already blaring; cars honking, whirring and whizzing by on the streets below, the blanket of last night’s bliss turned to dirty slush beneath their crushing wheels.

Across the street, the lone pigeon perches on the windowsill, while her friends fly on; The eighth floor of my building is desolate and a lone girl sits in her room, awaiting her friends to take her and fly away; Downstairs, the youth revels in their joy and in their ability to never necessitate sleep.

Somewhere beyond the confines of city life, families awake and share breakfast and dreams. Somewhere beyond the confines of these walls, hands tell more than pushes on a keyboard, as they hold on tightly to their beloved. Somewhere beyond here, lion cubs suckle at the breasts of life as gazelles are chased to their death. Somewhere, children do not eat nor sleep and raise themselves into what they will.

I write new words of hope or demise; We have had luxuries and ignorance about enough, I present to you that life is all incumbent.

Have you no heart to help? Are you the Devil himself? It is a sad state and we shall all live to see the day of the end.

Come hither, city of dreams! City of never-ending lights! City of sights and sounds beyond imaginings! City of scud and sparkle! City of knifings and kisses! City of new starts and new ends! Sweet City of Life! O Richly Poor City of Souls! Excessive City and Wasteful City! You have shown us everything and nothing, and there is so much left to do to get to a new day… Smile, precious city, for help is on its way!

Where the Black man is accused of murder… Where the Latina is seen as an easy lover… Where the rich, white kids obtain everything they want without doing anything for it… Where the deserving, poor child gets nothing although he does everything he can in hopes of something… Where the homeless live in the cold and the heartless live in warmth… Where the stray dogs are caught and put to sleep… Where the weed is shared among hopeless friends… Where the under-aged allows themselves to witness worldliness before their times… Where the innocent are convicted because the guilty have a strong societal influence… Where those that want to help can only do so much… Where the sweet souls must accommodate the disgusting filth and where the smiles of young ones are silenced, bringing forth cries of solitude…

This is the life that we have chosen. These are the lives in the city that never sleeps. This is the life that I try to escape every time I close my eyes. Yet, this is my life. This is your life…

Pleased with opportunities if you just keep believing… Pleased with prayers in hope of peace and tranquility… Pleased with words that can say so much and strike a fire in the hearts of some… Pleased with the ability and capability to love beyond imaginings… Pleased with the possibility for so much more. On the pavement, pleased with the chalk markings of children, as it reminds me of the innocence that is still pure and still dreams beauty. These children are our future. Their young minds still have a chance to change for the better. Our children can affect everything, every new day…

All This is what I rejoice and that which I share with You.

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