Dear heart:

I've had enough memories thank you. I'm stuffed. And I know you've done your part

but I've resorted to the burning of African incense in the hush of Honeybuns, dancing Moonpies,

but naked to "Mr. Big Stuff" , sitting on my hemp pillow in hopes of hatching the next great

Ecclesiastic nephew. Start here if your disturbed by any of this large night terror of slow wave

soft sleep of black pupils like those people of the Nile basin who didn't write poems but

who scratched love notes at the openings of porcupine burrows and who stabbed at the cheeks

of their enemies with the horns of endangered antelopes; unwilling to give them up

their poetesses for sacrifice to the god of stretch jeans and white cotton tops, your majesty.

"I will marry you" are the exact words I practiced with the muses of danger in my dressing gown

with my wig torn off and hanging on the elbow of the "total gym ab coaster max" machine and my

toes freed from the pointed louis Vuitton sling back stilettos,  and my four inch hoops. "Damn sister, you fine"!.

But not this night. Not when 100,000 and one Americans struggle to breath with the grandslaughter of  knees

on their throats and ventilators clicking to that mellitus music in their ghoulish garments

and with the strobe lights twisting the dawn into constant night: any of a genus of habitually grown

blue masks for the unknown beyond with the tuft of afro sheen

where if you looked thru the green glass as it spun from stove to scalp (from morgue to grave) you could see heaven

they'd  say...though reticent. 

Reviews

[Corset]

Like this one saves me. ;D ...and I thought I had love life issues … Gawd, as in Gawd not God, you are a piece of work. So freaking good it makes my head spin, who do you think you are? You bring humor and joy to me in the face of worldwide disaster, I will marry you. lol , take you home, squeeze you and call you Georg(ina) whilst I feed you pretend grapes, hide asps in your bed and sleep at your moonpie feet. Save me again.

[h d e rushin]

I hereby anoint you, "saved" my friend from hate and hell. like the Southern Family Law Center who points out those who bring misery, none of them are poets...Which means that within this kingdom, this poetic sanctum where meaning is post-verbal; what are the implications then for poetry that lives as joy in the face of any world disaster? Blues and heartache then has been alchemized like prayer alchemizes faith perhaps....I refuse to look at myself in the mirror until the pandemic is over...But I do remember that the emerald eye only sees jewels....thank you my dearest....dana

[Corset]

The most fondest you're welcomes

[Robert Trakofler]

I went to the very peaceful march here in Pittsburgh it started from the FBI building 5 blocks from my store and ended up downtown about 30 blocks down the way. The march at the end wasn't so peaceful... next to a white girl holding babies with i cant breathe scrawled upon her onesie. Some misguided anarchist (can that actually be a thing?) Set a police cruiser on fire and the destruction ensued some of the protesters attempted to stop them but the white anarchist boys would have non of that and took to fighting with the protestors. smoke canisters started to fly as did the rubber bullets and windows were smashed as the yellow jacket hive got poked by the angry ignorant kid. I stood in front of the cant breathe baby as I watched in disbelief at the misguided rage unfolding in front of me turned a peaceful show of mourning, love and solidarity to a mindless mob of stinging bees! It struck me that an old 240 pound razor back gorilla like me didn't stay alive long enough to don his silver streaks by the hands of mindless rage but that moment I wanted to so very badly to punch the daylights out of those anarchist boys:( were it not for the kid staring at me crying I'm pretty sure I would of. I'll save my rage to put it in the right place dear Dana but until I can do that all I want to do is hold my brothers and sisters and cry

[h d e rushin]

no protest will ever be like those of the early days when signs and slogans were enough. Today, if a store isn't looted or a police cruiser not tipped on it's side and burned, then no sacrifice was sufficient it seems. Kinda like going to a Mike Tyson fight and finding out the fight was over before you found your seat in the arena. But civil disobedience finds it's own natural light, I suspect. But I ask myself, after all the burning and baton poking, what's next? Where do we (americans) go from here? Does this (death and violence)bring us all to the tables of compassion? Do we learn to listen more intently, or to worship more fervently, or to come together as one more urgently? Only time will tell. But after Mr. Floyd's body is returned to dust and after we return to our homes of comfort and poetry, has the world been changed? TARGET has closed all it's stores in Michigan until the outrage subsides....I called my mother to tell her that we wont be going there for her usual caramel latte from the inhouse Starbucks and the dance she does in the shoe and slipper isle. See what I mean Bad? Normalcy cant wait for normalcy to return....thanks my friend...

[jacob erin-cilberto]

"Mr. Big Stuff, who do you think you are?" (ah, Jean Knight)
long ago song...disturbed by how it was, they wrote poems...one of my favorite Beats...Leroi Jones aka Imamu Baraka...
and the reference in here to knees on their throats..George is dead...and it never should have happened...
an arrest flavored with hate...and a nice man, respected by all, dead...1964 ....seems like we are going backward.
Perhaps he is looking down from heaven now...talking it over with God...and they are shaking their heads sadly at what we have become.
j.

[h d e rushin]

thank you dear brother.....you know me....sometimes I get on this soapbox I seem to carry around with me.....dana