If I hear one more Black poet
Connect the words
“Remember,” “slaves,”
“Brainwashed” and “backwards”
To the words
“Smart money”
“Entrepreneurship”
And “respectable leaders”
I will have to sock them in the face.
If I continue to hear poems
About how we, the average person,
Are “so lost,” “greedy” and “backwards,”
In essence, saying that we are to blame
For our economic problems,
I will have to sock them in the face.
If I hear another poem
Spitting about how the real problem
With the world is patriarchy
And that war is driven by the male ego
With no financial interest
Of the world’s richest men and women
Taken into account,
I will have to sock them in the face.
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Hey, is it too banal
To declare that the first drink of soda
Always brings tears to my eyes?
A rush of carbonation
An exhale of exhilaration.
It’s as sure as the second sneeze
From my nose
To follow the first.
It’s just not worth it to say “God bless you”
Until it comes.

Sometimes I’d like to write about transcendent beauty
Use a bunch of big words
But out instead comes a plethora of absurdity.
The mundane details of my life.
The mundane details of my life give it meaning.
I hope you can relate.
If you can, great.
If not, then fuck you
And the horse you rode in on.
Yeah, I hope that horse gets shot in the stable
Right between the eyes
Falls down instantly
When you go into town to get that new cell phone
You’ve been saving up for.

I hope PETA doesn’t sue me.

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We have an understanding.
We don’t understand each other.
Take out?
Take in.
Have a seat.
A raised index finger
From her
Repeated by me
A finger for my lonely.
Table for one.
Only me.
Sit down.
Order.
Point.
Smile.
Watch as the next waitress walks away.
Stare.
Wait.
Be anxious.
Wait.
Stop being anxious.
You might attract attention.
Stare into the distance some more.
Get lost in thought.
Not happening.
Try to lose the thought of getting lost.
The second you know you’re there you’re not there.
Now just sitting.
Sitting and staring.
Pretending.
Performing.
Acting.
There.
There.
I must be there.
Don’t pay me any mind.
I can’t afford it.
Currently I’m working on something.
Plans.
Ideas.
Stories.
Words.
Memories come faster
So I let them come.
I’m there.
“What ifs” of the past proliferate.
They form, whispy at first.
Ideas.
Lost.
In smoke and steam.
Coffee.
Cigarettes.
My eyes are open (I think) and I can’t see.
That’s it.
Perfect.
I don’t see tables.
I don’t see a vase.
I don’t see cloudy grey outside.
I am lost.
I am with my exgirlfriend.
I am stairing out the window
Looking at the reflections of lights
From my Christmas tree.
I am sitting by my uncle
His twelve pack by his side.
I am crying by my father
As he sleeps in his brown chair.
Sound.
Jarring.
It has found me.
The world has found me.
The smokescreen has parted.
I am not there anymore.
I am here.
I am amidst tables, vases, grey clouds outside.
I am amidst people at other tables.
I am alone.
And I cannot understand them.
But we have an understanding.
That man is a table for one.
He is alone.
Let him be lost in his thoughts.

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Workers of the World
And Soon-To-Be-Out-Of-Workers of the World,
Unite and fight!
You have only everything to lose.

You are worth something to society.
You work to make commodities
In factories all over the globe.
You work to provide services
In restaurants, shops, and stadiums.
You work
For pennies of the real value
That you produce.
The real value
That fills the wallets
Lines the pockets
Trusts the funds
Of those you work for.

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I’m speaking to the city tonight

In silence.

The city answers back, loudly.

Its many noises greet my balcony.

The honking of horns,

The ringing of whistles,

The bang of tires upon uneven concrete.

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They say one man’s trash

Is another man’s treasure.

If that be the case

Then I see a treasure hunter

Foraging in a dumpster

Every day.

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One day,

As I was right about to pull a weed from the garden

A voice

Monotone

Not unlike HAL the computer’s

Or Al Gore’s

Came from the weed.

“Dave, what are you doing?”

As shocked as I was, I couldn’t help but answer

“I’m pulling you out.

What does it look like I’m doing?”

The weed replied

“Why, Dave?”

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Narrator: Beverly Hills mansion. Afternoon. Diana hastily parks a BMW and moves towards the front door. Diana has an all-night-party-girl image. She wears a black dress and black designer sunglasses. Brunette. She is about to knock on the door but stops herself and lights a cigarette instead. She calmly rings the doorbell. The door opens. A woman, Diane, stands before her. Diane is Diana’s reflection in everything but fashion. The two could be identical twins. Diane is dressed in a classy piece of lingerie. Diana tilts her head down and looks at Diane through her sunglasses.

Diana: God, he’s a sick fuck.

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98% of the human body is water.
Water covers 71% of the Earth’s surface.
3% of that water is fresh water.

In Bolivia, the year 2000,
President Banzer decided to privatize the nation’s water.
Whether from the fountain, hose, or tap, water had a price
And that price was 35% higher than what any Bolivian had ever paid before.
At $20 per month, it was 20% of the average Bolivian’s monthly income.
It was far more than Bolivia could afford.
But the war on Bolivia’s water did not stop there.
Along with the rate hikes, they cut the water off
From houses, whole city districts, and villages.
All because the people of Bolivia could not pay.
Thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands, could not pay.

But the water wars have spread much farther than Bolivia…
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