Your love was on condition You showed me the fine print Handed me a nearly empty pen Directed my eyes down to a page A page filled with terms and agreements A page titled ‘My love contract’ I held that pen full of empty promises and extended conversation I had so many questions, The first
Ben lày’en a marredistance isolationne t’approche pasles enfants vont tuer leurs grands-parentsla petite Lennon reste dans sa chambreelle ne sort qu’avec un masquepour ne pas infecter sa mère son pèrel’arrière grand-mère a déménagépeur de Lennonelle ne peut l’approcherson bijou sa raison de vivremaintenant le spectre de sa mort Lennon est maladefièvre touxle nez qui coulecomme
Learning the difference One day I killed a carpenter bee that was crawling on the driveway. It was crawling and I squished it with my shoe. Mom told me carpenters weren’t dangerous, not like the bee who stung my hand last summer. I tried to save the bee, blew on it, gave it water drops
Candles (A memory) Stumble into a dark apartment And fumble for the light. Empty and cool with the breeze Blowing through the open window. Flick the switch and gaze around At the mess of dishes, scattered papers, And children’s toys. The kids are back with their mother for the week And the place is quiet
Sung to the tune of C.R.E.A.M. by Wu-Tang Clan I grew up on the sci side, the Bill Nye don’t lie side Empirical research was my jive Had second hand textbooks and a laptop, man So then I went away to collegeland A young youth, reading strictly peer reviewed to get loose Debate your ideas
Daddy taught me all that I should know long before I started losing teeth. So by tender age of five or six, I sincerely held in my belief, the “Tooth Fairy” in name, was quite benign: A friendly capitalist, market-wise. So when I lost my molars, round age 9, well wasn’t I the model
When life throws everything at you Don’t drop the ball “Don’t drop the ball” “Blue 42 Set Hike!” A brown quarterback’s fingers Tighten around the white laces Of a football Roosevelt vs. Garfield They meet today Upon an annual battleground Where local legends Spell rivalry In defensive and offensive formations Upon this old field In
Senryū For The Artist Home is much better Don’t you agree? Much better To make art, instead Senryū For The Music Lover I do not care for The shouting in the streets Give me some Mozart Senryū For The Homebody I am a writer I am not an activist I’d rather stay home
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