Dystopia

cops walk the streets with electric weapons
looking for trouble
guilt measured by the color of skin
closed circuit cameras hidden on walls watch
but the eyes and the mouth are disjointed
the woman in the alley receives no help

the human is treated as a machine
sometimes it seems, it's illegal to breathe
running for a train, to catch a bus, a hairpin on a plane
suspicious
laughing too loud or walking alone
deadly

drowning in dystopia
like water, it's all around you
blink and you'll see it
have another pill, you'll forget you saw
if you dissent, you'll regret it
as the IV unit drips chemicals into your blood
remaking, reforming, changing
opinions kill in this wounded world

wear a mask, show a face, don't let them see
the freedom to feel and think; gone
if you transgress the norms and laws
all you have will be gone

the myriad complexities of human morality
the right of an identity
deleted.



(c) 2014

Countdown

strangers at the gate
counting down,
5, 4, 3, 2,
one more day, one more night
one day there will be nothing left
naught. nil. zero.
knock, knock, knock
good day, goodbye
tomorrow, hello
red dawn, red sky
5, 4, 3,
too many people, rushing around
welcome home
5, 4,
three more days till it's all
done and gone
done and gone
done and gone
return the silence, pacem,
let there be peace
5,
for us all to breathe
let it go, let it stay
let the rain wash it all away
screaming
it's too late, too early
five minutes left
the fire is raging past its limits
let it all, all go
let it all go away
close your eyes, don't worry
stop the tide, inhale
5, 4, 3, 2, 1,
sleep.



(c) 2014

Colors

you ask me, what do colors taste like?
i reply, like the times of day, but sweeter

Blue tastes like sugar before you fall asleep

Orange tastes like cinnamon bread,
and waking up late

White tastes like candied violets and catching,
the bus in the morning
heading to school,
with your breath misting

Green tastes like honey and,
the first time you find a blooming crocus
nestled in the grass

Yellow tastes like chocolates at five a.m.,
when the clouds are just
blushing pink

Black tastes like hot tea before bedtime,
silky and sweet and steaming

Red tastes like rose petals,
and caramel while you watch the stars
on the hill behind your house

Purple tastes like spun sugar,
spider webs,
dusted with nutmeg
in the hour after dawn

Pink is like a deep breath
of vanilla
by the fire
at midnight

Gray tastes like cigarettes in the cold,
under a streetlamp in a big city,
fanning smoke tracing patterns in the air
like white pencil and black paper
haunting

then there are colors like Verdigris, Orchid, Wisteria...
Burgundy, Olive, Warm Black, which is really
just a different sort of blue
they taste like rust and cherries
like blood and music

the color of unbleached silk
gentle, pale coral
tasting of pure and crystalline water
flowing from somewhere
arriving at a place, unknown

delicate yellows and a thousand shades of pink
colored from tumbleweed to turkish rose
restless, gentle
taste like the first mists of autumn
and silence.




(c) 2014