05.12.2013

*Rapunzel*

Thunder. He comes with the wind
Armed with a ballpoint pen
Speaking of payback and
Revolution

Rain. Her eyes like the sun
Shafting brightly through dark
Clouds. Like shiny tresses and
Eyebrows

The storm we wage against snouts
Her lipglossed smile. My tattooed muscle
Together we blow down
The wolf's house

A cemetery. Where we're all heading
From a bright star to a dull
Black hole. Intelligent life sleeps alone tonight
Beneath billions

The center of my universe
Her fingers. This growling stomach
Skin needing twice as much oxygen
And attention
Blessed or cursed?

Materialistic motherfuckers sleepwalking Mother Earth
Ears squished against tiny technologies
Fingers tapdancing to the tune of money

Wants versus needs in this galactic community
The billions against the few fat, pale pussies
Fear most those most afraid
Amerikka cowered behind militarized children

Training in war tactics and residential storming
Remote controlled weapons for Jehovah Witnesses and Mormons

The dirt beneath our feet
Inside each of our bones
This god. That god. Mammon
Decked out in priestly robes

Can't breathe? Can't swim? Move over human species
Alligators at least avoid pollution

The sky witnessed our evolution from scratch
Its anger entitled Sandy, Katrina, Hiroshima
What the world's children are doing
Can hear Cro-Magnon spirits in the wind
Booing

Tears. I cry for the untapped possibilities in all of us
Wasted in wars, greed, starvation. The three little pigs

*I Am* 05.21.2013

So, here we are. The eve of my parole hearing. I sit Indian style on my bunk's hard mattress running through what needs to be said; spoken to the gray-faced old-timers that hold my life, the lives of my loved ones, in their wrinkled hands, whims and emotions. Freedom?

"One day your kind, dear board member, will be tracked down for crimes against humanity. Like the Nazis." - "I never killed or raped anyone and ten years of my life have been stolen in repayment to society." - "I wasn't involved in price fixing to the amount of millions... I wasn't at the controls of that Black Hawk in the Middle East firing on innocents... I didn't invade a nation on false weapons of mass destruction propaganda... I don't, and haven't for ten years, paid to keep [through willingly, happily paying taxes] kept Guantanamo Bay torture chamber open..." etc, etc, etc.

I'm a poor man. That is my crime. I'm poor.

"I am sorry... I sincerely request... thank you."

I'm a poor man oppressed by rich men that must bow down like a toadying serf to obtain my shot at freedom. And then once released I will be tracked like a dog, ostracized like a leper, tripped up like every other victim of insane governments since time eternal.

My kind doesn't taste victory until we have been buried hundreds of years and those younger dig up our bones and history and redeem us.

I am that slave who knows several languages, studying contraband textbooks by candlelight at night. But barely speaking English to the master by day. Patiently waiting.

I am that Jew in the basement raising my family out of sight of the S.S. Teaching my offspring resistance. Sharpening knives. Waiting.

I am that Palastinian, that Navaho, that Afghani opposition to Amerikkan imperialism.

I am he who can't spell Palestinian, Navajo.

II. - I am waiting for the world to see that evil exists as normalcy; evil is the taxpaying citizen; the same as the German middle class was in the 1940s. The same as the Amerikkan pioneers were in the 1700s. The same as Columbus, Washington, Bush - slave-owning, warmongering, rapists.

I am he who wins in the long run. Greetings.