Call Him Crazy

You see dirt man circling bags of shit and flies

Singing insanity and fling piss whip like a majorette swinging a baton

Wearing dirt suit, slime stupor and alleged bad choices manifested.

Could be crack, could be karma.

Lady tell your kids not to look his way or they’ll turn to stone

Or he’ll probably eat them with

monster teeth designed like broken piano keys

Vacant eyes wide as saucers

If one really paid attention, they’d see

But-a-man dressed in courage most envy

As they hold onto their drapetomania [dreams of freedom] til the only

Escape is their demise

He dances to his own private jam

In the middle of traffic, eyes shut to people laughing at him

He is the center of his galaxy, entertaining  gods and constellations

Escaping a reality that has him homeless, dirty, hungry, alone, and damaged.

Everyone else is crazy,

Rushing to unfulfilled lives,

Ignoring the voices in their heads that tell them they are special

That tell them to dance, laugh, wild out like happy-go-lucky children

Chained instead to a life that keeps them fat, unfulfilled, and far from their core.

Freedom is the lens that he sees through.

Settled into him like the staunch of rotting shoes.

No pill could take this away from him.

You see dirt man circling bags of shit and flies

Singing insanity and fling piss whip like a majorette swinging a baton

Blissfully happy. 

He is the envy of all who wish they had the courage

To be his kind of crazy.                                                  

Ensconced

Ensconced

Ensconced in the crevices of a beat up thrift store couch

And soaking deep in a bowl of soggy cereal,

Her reflection peeks through false idols on a tv screen

She is the pealing off from an eggshell colored wall

A mark on a barren journal page

And a tear in a random newspaper.

She is the breath between heartbeats

And the heartbeat between breaths

And the interruption of tears that make their encore appearance during

Moments such as this.

She is one with her pillow and bed,

Hiding from the sun.

A bottle of Bev Mo she kisses softly before

Opening herself wide to its magic. 

Instead, it puts her in a deep slumber…a place where she is protected

From the burn of the sun and shaming faces.

Its so much easier to slumber.  To hide. To soak in a dream where she is

Beautiful and bold and smart and thin and together.  And loved.

Reality, like San Francisco fog, slaps her gently on the face.

She awakens and decides she is all of those things…

…beautiful and bold and smart and together and loved

and fearless.

She takes a deep breath, steps forward, blessing the trees and the sun

…and the city lights and the people

With her presence.