stlsrchng

                                                      Bricks     I stood face to face with the brick wall, my eyes fixated on one single point in front of me, dangling tantalizingly, slightly above my forehead. My feet stood planted and spread as if in competition, as in a challenge. The small indention in the murky red stood unyielding, and I wondered vaguely if it was not meant to challenge me, but if it could help me. Fix me. If there was some magnetic pull between my forehead and the bricks, would I be able to pull back enough times to rid me of thought, of consciousness?     But my feet stayed planted, and I was so close, the grains

The Cab Driver Couldn’t have shown his pride Any more than he already was, Knit hat in The colors of his flag: Yellow, green, and red, With a few dreadlocks Still hanging From his other wise balding head. His domain (of which he was sill the captain) Had a sign on the back seat that read “Say No to Illegal Drugs… Don’t Judge a Book by It’s Cover” Another sign on the side told The driver’s name was Kofi Which I thought could be pronounced Coffee Which was the color of his skin. The sounds of some dread-ridden singer Bounced off the sides of the car, “Is this singer from your cou

Feet pounding a steady, Relentless beat on cold pavement. One foot here. No, Wait, Here. Be careful not to break a back Your mother's or otherwise, But you don't care. Because conscience only exists in one's mind. Prayers of safety and Spiritual relief are lost in the constant pounding since God only exists in the headphones Slung around your head Where the music is, And karma only exits In the little brown bowl at the station That says one cent for good luck. So you'll try it. And continue beating on Until the only thing that matters Is the rhythm on the sidewalk Because that's where you exist, Where you belong. In

You know, being famous isn't easy. People always have these expectations. It's like when you meet some fan at a high-end party. "Oh, hello there Have we met before?" And they've got a slight scent of alcohol surrounding them And they stick out their hand And grab yours and stare at you like your God "So you're familiar with my work …well, I'm glad you like it so much" But then God wouldn't really be like me. I'm sure God has better things to do with his time Than pursue idiotic dreams of grandeur and fame While he's trying to save the world from the evil Like me. "Inspiration? You say. Well, I've got my fair share of inspir

Hello Let me introduce myself I am the public enemy Screw up number one I am the one you see Sitting on the street corner With only his backpack to keep him company Just trying to beg for another drink I am your daughter Who has defied your standards And given herself over to whimsical fantasies Interrupted by a crying child I am your son who you wait on While he is with his friend after school Exploring him with his lips I am the starving artist Trying to make a living Through visions that the typical Corporate American Cannot understand I am the girl in the back row With her head smashed between headphones Suffering

Some people tell me I'm kind of like Jesus Only I'm not Jewish, I don't perform miracles, And I sure as hell ain't righteous. But they tell me I'm kind of like Jesus Because we were both betrayed by a kiss.

Shakespeare wrote and told me once That a rose by any other name Would smell as sweet, But Ms. Stein said A Rose is a Rose is a Rose. Dorothy Parker favored limousines instead. Kindergarten children 'round the world Proclaim that Roses are Red and Violets are Blue. Perhaps Blue is a better color. They tell me sugar is sweet too, But I'm not so sure. Little girls certainly aren't (And aren't they made of sugar?) And Jesus might have said that children are innocent, But perhaps my sister belongs to the devil. Dickinson enlightened me Giving easy lightening to the children With kind explanation of dazzling truth, To prevent

Angels in perfect formation Arranged like a symphony Breastplates of iron (and righteousness) With wings that sound of chariots (Like a million horses rushing into battle) A battle cry of the Hallelujah chorus Sung twice for good measure With swords raised over their heads A goal to sever a head or two (The beast had too many anyway) In an appeal for aid The whore of Babylon wrote once To ask how I was I said I wasn't sure But it was nice to hear from her United as one Detached in battle The sword of truth wounding with every Powerful word spoken from the mouths of babes Slaughtered by the uninnocent Victory hanging over

Prometheus sent me a box of chocolates With a liver inside (A Caucasusian delicacy) I fed it to my dog And walked up the stairs that never end To the front porch swings Where broken Lies Puncture healthy lungs And I find it hard to breathe With invisible features ripping out my eyes Stealing them away from me You were always a bit possessive But they told me not to play with fire And now I know why Prometheus pities me.