Over Me

I leapfrog over
and leave that me behind

forgetting the obligation
of shame
or duty to aspire
I unlatch the leash
that binds me
to me

and for a second
or mere fractions of
a second
I leap above, float
and leave my own-self

I leap above and
that I am
an “am”
I leap above into

We the Indignant

We have come undone
arriving at the front porch
of our only home
with blood on our primate palms
hemorrhaging shame.

We have arrived
utterly inhuman
on the living room rug
dripping in our
sweet as piss pride
debased, foul with stench
barely alive.

We are foreigners
to our own selves.
Alien to God
to love
to each other.
Blinded ignorant
foolishly unrepentant.

Our sons
are still being slaughtered
without provocation
bleeding Free-
staining pavement
while we sleep.

Wake up!
Take up the slack
we have all let grow, demand
-No More!

No Woman-
No Man-
No Human-
to beat your devil into.

No body
white or
to bruise, bully
invite to his own murder.

Only justice will carry
our battle through
this, our darkened night
to a homecoming
we are begging for.

No rest until then.
No home for anyone
until we all have refuge.

Thoughts on Rilke

As the second-hand makes its way around the clock face, I have escaped into Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet. Abandoning my own ship to come aboard his, I soon find Rilke’s insights and words easily move me to tears, readily evoking such intimacy of emotion.

Nobody worships so entirely as the poet. Nobody devotes the totality of their senses with such profound faith quite like Rilke. Why else bother lifting a pen than to animate such delicacies of the human heart?