somewhere between six forty-five and quarter to seven
by Roger Mugs
lack of sleep hit the fan
things that fade
then re-awake
and keep you from that glorious state
of
who am i
where am i
why on earth did you decide to wake me?
lack of sleep hit the fan
things that fade
then re-awake
and keep you from that glorious state
of
who am i
where am i
why on earth did you decide to wake me?
and the Truth is sometimes like
your First kiss
or your Last
the Truth is sometimes a
Knife in hand
or in the back
either way speaking the
Truth is like spitting out a mouthful of rocks
you’ve been holding for 27 years
the Hope is that your Truth crushes
whoever it is that needs to be crushed
for there are those who’d rather you
have a mouth full of boulders
than a community full of hearts
the hope is that your Truth lifts
whoever it is that needs to be lifted
for there are those buried under
hate/ignorance/intolerance/miseducation/dishonesty/depression/selfishness/violence/
loss/youcantdoit/youllnevermakeit/noonecares/youcantchangethis
who need to breathe life
(so poets:
release your words so they may become
the hearts
on
your
sleeves
&
the stars
in
the
sky)
Wind flinging water
Sideways and arm-like branches
Wave goodbye to Spring.
I cleaned out my office today,
Putting all my paraphernalia away;
Taking everything off my wall,
Including the poster in the hall.
And as I regarded my state property stapler,
All I wanted was to steal it;
But I resisted the urge as shit,
Choosing to keep my soul in-tact.
While I do love my family,
After a long weekend of togetherness,
I love it more when they go away,
Even if it is on Mother’s Day.
