If I was a bigot,
Or xenophobic,
Or prejudiced,
Or sexist,
Or racist,
Or even Evangelical,
I would argue
The Wrath of God
Has enveloped America,
Like a plague.
But I'm not, I'm a non-believer.

I’ll tuck the tears back behind my eyelids.
Keep them closed like the window on the fourth floor my mom always kept locked so I wouldn’t leap.

Your face fell between my thighs, cradled, rock-a-bye, never eat more than you can handle. Always use your forks and knives.

What is it
That noise you make
That soft hum so distinct
So full of distain
Disgust

Prayer

Scorn me, scorch me, sink your suckling teeth into me. But don’t you ever ******* say you love me.

How much of me do you not need?

Because when I offered you accepted everything willingly.

You stuffed your face with frivolity.

Selfishly gulped down my heart and with it my insecurities.

When you were finished, you gave your compliments to the chef and told me you never wanted any of it.

It's not a macho thing.
It's not a Republican choice.
He's not worried
We won't hear his voice.
He just can't wear a mask,
It's not because of manly fears;
It's just Putin
Likes to hold
**** lickers by their ears.

There lives in the everyday
On a Wednesday late morning sidewalk
Of grimy city and in the small town
In the overcast of pregnant skies

Just plain folks
Blind enough of their own ego
To wear an immunity of self like a concrete saint

You see them in timeless pause
And watch in awe and ache
As blue and grey birds
With eyes as cloudy as your skies
Rest peacefully on their fingertips
Nurturing fat bellies with morsels of a sacred stillness

My best verses are never written
Nor do anyone gets to listen
They dance in my mind
every word properly bind

The words conjuring the bliss
the smallest sentences
with deepest meanings

disappear when I take out my pen

and start over a blank sheet
with one word staring back
Composed and forgotten

In dark abyss
absence of words in canvas
Cannot remake the very rhyme
The painted masterpiece
Stolen away as
Reality strikes again.