Texture

Hard wood grain, artificially marked a brown that does not evoke Earthy emotions
I drag my scarred and broken hands across the surface of the scarred and broken timber, long felled by perhaps another lost generation

Our Mother(Nature)'s Room

Warm acidic karmic bliss flows from my midsection into the roughage and foliage,
The unseen unnecessarily said necessary part of the water cycle.
Taking nourishment and energy and work and dollar bills(Later to be taxed by the Father) from the Mother as she asks nothing,
Only to have spent it all on gambling and debauchery chasing while tea drunk indoors indoors indoors
Only to return outdoors into the room of the Mother that fits us all perfectly, only to piss upon it all

Wooden

The Earth takes back the forgotten wooden bench,
left damned to rot, to take on water and vines and graffiti.
The Earth takes it back, it's Brother's rooted next to it clinging up and down the frame work.
Left to be shit on by the birds who couldn't imagine being chained to one location
Or
Are they placing their own social statement over the long taxed copy of a copy of a copy man made corporation made graffiti, that one who knows not to read knows MEANS nothing?
This is why I do not plunge my knife into it's wooden grain textured surface, for certain defacement is only desperate nothing.
The green, The green of the River, The green of the forest, The green stands out as I sit upon the bench that has seen hell
And is still being reclaimed by our Mother.

Dialogue With My Dark Brother

"Isn't it sad?", Mike says looking at everything but me. Sitting at a four person table, the two of us sit diagonally across from each other. Some nameless elevator music plays above us here in Starbucks.
I answer back, staring at my empty plastic cup,"Is what sad? The fact that we're in a Starbucks right now or that this town closed down the last non-corporate coffee shop?" When I say 'this town' there is a certain bitterness, because I do not speak of the township government but the town as an organism. This old town of mine is no longer mine and it's infected.
"Well yes, there's that." Mike says to me with a slight scoff in my direction. "But isn't it sad that it's more socially acceptable to Fuck around than to ask someone to hold you so that you can weep?" The rings of condensation on the table are what hold both of our gazes but not our attention.
"Are you saying you want me to hold you, Mike?" I say still looking at the moist rings on the wood grain.
"Reilly. I've already go ahold of you."

Third Person

A cruel trickster has stolen the floor beneath me with charm and poise right before my eyes
She will see the rain with reluctance one day and have naught but the slightest wish for drought
We'll fool them all and take gold from the well whilst they sleep
Just think like this. Just, do it.
Now, dry your eyes.
Maybe see what conversation the spores can hold when given the floor
Glamor and fame are the name of the game but wishes and riches stitch the paper for the misses.
Coffee in a children's cup
Sinisterly sip and feel your pulse raise as the bitter liquid warms your young esophagus
Feel control. Feel no control. Feel.
I need to feel.
Connect, but the wires are frayed.
Just make contact.
That. Is. All.

Curve Like a Q

Do you want to bear his christian child?
We need more Sons to bear our names and our crosses
Imperialistic dogma rules the land and the seas, the uteruses
More troops on the ground, but not to work the land or farm the crops
Karmic revolution will have no last man alive but a last Woman
The last Woman, to clean up after the Men are done
Tell me my name and now take it with you
Disguising any past accomplishments with male valor
The debt and the blood and the dirt is on our hands
While all the while we're watched with wringing hands and nervous eyes
A hostage crisis. Women and children first.
Femininity Femininity Femininity
Wrap the world in your arms and don't let go until it's fallen into a deep trusting slumber
Tell them what is best but force nothing upon anyone
Guide but do not command
Love like a Mother.

45 Degrees

Ice and glass clink clink clink with each interaction and gesture
None held back, never restrained. Not. In. These. Moments.
Falling with no branches to hit on the way down
The room moves around me and introduces all the one and the one to all
tip back the bottle and let that poison fill your belly
Feel the warmth grow within and glow like an expecting mother
I've caught the killer within me, but what are you to do with the convicted?
Tip back the bottle. Blink Wink Think Clink Go the movements and another life and another lie is ruined.
We've won the race but we haven't realized the finish line is long behind us.
Along, with the setting Sun.