Friday, August 31, 2012

Day 8: broke

I find that it's easy
In this city
To hemorrhage money

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Day 7: RIP John Vietnam

is a fucked up thing
she will have you knowing that grandmas and grandads die constantly
sometimes mothers
and fathers
sometimes brother and daughters
and yet
knowing so
you still find yourself surprised
when you see a post on facebook about a boy you knew
through closer friends
has died

dont understand how this could have happened
how the world tipped and let another young life slip off the edges
just know that shit aint right
not sure if you are justified in crying
justified to feel
for you know nothing of his skin, kin
palms or lips
know very little of his voice
nothing of his heart
and yet
here you are shaking tears from your skin like practice
trying to understand the meaning of tragedy and if this is it...
you think it is

i guess this is the promise we make ourselves in living
that death
at each corner
will shake us at each turn
no matter who it is
but that when the dying are young
and beautiful
and brilliant
and full of potential,
like you, John

they will remind us of our siblings
and all the other young people who are not done living
we will return home and hold them close
knowing that no one is safe
in this earth tipping game

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Day 6: Subways nonsense

Been writing in pencil lately
prefer the scratch of synthetic led to tree
over the clank of awkward fingers over plastic
and yet
its all relative
cuz i find myself now
clanking away into the evening

there is no story here yet
just a bunch of strangers
face to face on a metro train
and a burn victim asking for a change
and a woman who sings like someone i must have heard in a dream
makes me wonder about how easy it is to be worthy of greatest
and yet
fall short
find yourself begging for change
or demanding it another way

like i said
there is no story here yet
just a set of strangers
who might never cross paths again
and a violins
echoing through the tunnel
and a boy who's frozen
watching the masterpiece unfurl

and so here i am
scribbling away
scribing nonsense
in an overpriced book of trees
with an over priced pencil, japanese
with nothing worthy of the voice iʻve been given
just a reflection
of a young boy's smile
as he learned his love for music

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Day 5: Agitation

caught in your lung
like a disease
caughing up infection
to catch you broken

stuck to the roof of your mouth
like the sweet stick of honey

an old western rerun on AMT
a soundtrack i thought i'd forgotten
something familiar
that gets caught
like dust under my eyelids

so here i am
eyes watering from the sting

unwilling to let the disease of you fall through me
i will hold you there
in the gloss of my eyes

you are just an allergy i've agitated

Monday, August 27, 2012

Day 4: Rainfall

first rain
a sky parting kind of thing
find yourself looking up
up up and away
waiting for the light to split
at the right angle
remind you of the place you come from
build an arch worthy of the word home

but no
there is no movement
the sky shivers still
no colors combining
no arc climbing
no beauty to hold you

just the sound of rain
falling at your feet
and the smell of sidewalk

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Day 3: Silence

Silence seems to me
a commodity
no one can afford to sell
so we barter off public spaces like currency

im looking for a corner to call my own
a crack to call home
a place no one else has found
but this is not the city for secrets
and discoveries
everything worthy
has already gone to he highest bidder

so where does that leave me?

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Day 2: Jamaica aint no queen

I see my name
all over this city
from streetlights to tshirts
from the voice of a young boy
to the fleet of subways- screaming
and yet,

see none of myself
not in the streets
nor the trees
and definitely
not in the bluest of the eyes
or the heart of a girl i used to call mine
one i once knew
who used to love me

Friday, August 24, 2012

Day 1: In Transit(ion)

The horn on this plane
rings like a pū
reminds me of the way
i will ask permission
to return
to the hearts of this home
how i must arrive
a stranger
one who has wandered too far way to call myself sacred
with too much stardust of another city
caught under my skin
an unfamiliar stench to kin

when it sings again
when i find myself released
the sting will remind me of all my promises
the ones i had no business making
will scratch at the back of my throat like a forgotten prayer
like a chant i havent sung in years

Kunihi ka mauna
stand erect as the ridge line
do not fear its shape
do not stutter in your request
know only
you have found your way
home, a stranger to you
hope for a reply of welcome