the street unravels an unborn poem
into my pen.
the liquor store where i buy my
and sells nag champa
next to porno
why do rebel saints like me find that comforting?
that taqueria where I just bought non-organic
tacos with extra sour cream
is filled with sounds, oh sounds,
of soccer. whether you
planned a quiet dinner for one or two or not.
the whole kitchen comes out with white towels
in hand when they hear the cheering
but they are almost always too late to see the play
as Mexican tv does not have the replay tech of the
football channel.I feel sad that they cannot see the play.
out the window of my art studio
i see a young man crossing the street
and the street unravels an unborn poem
he is in a billabong sweatshirt
and carrying a bag of groceries from safeway
(a 20 minute walk away from where he is now)
and in his other hand is two dozen roses
and I feel happy for the woman in his life
he is a smiling man with something to look forward
my man is at work
but later he will bring me the spoils of fine
dining, cheese and almost done wine bottles
and we will speak of love
life money poetry allies IP and IT and
then talk about how cute our cat is
this is because we do not have children
but we look forward to each other
the way that young man looks forward to
walking in smiling with two dozen roses.
There are others out on the street
from my second story view that I notice
and they are holding hands
smiling into eachother’s faces
with so much hope
and I think for a moment of those
who have less than them with the
nice shoes and sparkling watches
and instead of feeling
guilty I feel glad
wondering if the stats are yet to be in
on how folks having a good time
contributes to the global econonmy
and the spiritual economy.
as if it is a bad word.
we are not just consumers
we are reality designers.
and for some reason only
poetry without walls knows,
I begin to think about intregrity.
integrity and lack thereof is on
on my mind tonight.
my own and others
that I could be the one with the
but alas I am not
I am a sparkling tiara
and a ruined piece fo birthday cake
I am a castle and the hood too
I am a queen and the garbage collector too
I am loved and loving and
lost and losing
all at the same darn time.
I am here now and
gone now too
and is it true
that truth is truth is truth?
I know nothing of such claims.
Sweetness and african violets
from my neighbor who has MS
are my truth.
I cannot get this life right.
I resolve to fail and I am relieved.
maybe this is what Jesus wants us to know
that we are going to fail no matter what.
I rise and fall
a hundred times.
Besides, Rumi said it doesn’t matter if you’ve
broken your vow a thousand times, come
and yet again come.
now it is time to paint
and drink more wine…