Speech to the young, speech to the right now

Show them,
show the lost and used,
the blinded and confused,
the self-doubters who lose,
the angry who got screwed,
"even if you are not ready to fight
the fight will find you."
You will fight.
For that is life.

Live not for the way out.
Live not for final bout.
Live for the battles fought.

©06.17.2018 ebn

I'm a fool to want you

In a small, quiet room
On a wet Sunday afternoon
I sat on the bare floor
Listening to Billie
While you were sleeping

©06.16.2018 ebn

When morning

When morning
slides through the cracks in the windows,
still hung over from last night,
shuffling along the floor cuz it knows what it is supposed to do,
and pushes the curtains open with a painful yawn,
I pry my eyes open, feeling guilty,
and in a very groggy voice,
grunt, sitting up,
the taste of a sliver of moon
still in my mouth.

©06.16.2018 ebn

We will fall in love

What does burning a flag mean
To a human being
And what worst enemy to life
Than a patriot

Like a leaf falling in a puddle
We wait for the sun
And the wind to blow us away

And having fallen from the tree
Eventually
We will disappear

What song
Moves the deaf
And does shouting
Ever make a point

Like the temple kissed by a bullet
The startling crack goes unheard
And the light rushes into darkness

And being kissed
Eventually
We will fall in love

©06.16.2018 ebn

If I’m going to be honest

If I’m going to be honest,
(which is like peeling off scabs
at the swimming pool while daydreaming
about nothing in particular)
she never knew how much
or how little I loved her
because my love for her
had little to do with her,
any more than the sun dancing off the water
had to do with my delight at seeing
an unexpected butterfly alight on my knuckle
and, looking over to see her witness it, too,
smiling at the idea that someone else saw it.

She’s that half a melody
that reminds me of something
that has nothing to do with the song;
I get happy when she comes around
because of who she brings with her.
Now that I think of it
I didn’t really love her at all,
not the way she was used to love,
but I used her to remember where I was
when she was there -
the way balloons racing into the sun
remind me of how she smiled with her mouth open
when she leaned her head back to watch them;
or how the lyrics to that song
remind me of how terrible she carries a tune;
or how that one beat
reminds me of how we stepped in the park
that late afternoon just before it rained.

So maybe it would be best
to stop telling her I love her
when I really just want her to
fill in the space in my head
with old receipts from moments I almost forgot
but for the fact that she still has them
sticking to the bottoms of her shoes,
stuffed in her purse,
or posted on the refrigerator.
Receipts of me
She keeps up with better than I do.

©06.16.2018 ebn

Blessed are the ignorant

Blessed are the ignorant
for they gone learn today.
Their just desserts are made with love
and just a touch away.

Blessed is the average Joe
who’s figured out the game.
He’ll be richly rewarded;
shit gives flowers all their fame.

Blessed are the faithful
who believe what helps them sleep,
who cannot help what they don’t know
and don’t know they are sheep.

The shepherd called in sick today.
The wolves are up and at ‘em.
Someone’s gonna have to pay
for easy living’s bottom.

©06.16.2018 ebn

No need to shame bitter souls

No need to shame bitter souls
whose bad manners offend innocent sensitivities
like fallen candles proving their flame;
whose misery creaks through crooked jaws
and slanted eyes,
like a dust storm announcing it is only a fresh breeze.
Neither is there a need to console their
pugilistic nature -
what make everything and everybody
an obstacle.

There is no room for your compassion.
It will simply be used as a handkerchief
to clean the excess spittle from their lips
so that no one can accuse them
of being rabid.
They take care of their appearance.

Do not waste your time correcting them.
Their madness will not allow it.
You will only succeed in proving yourself
a charlatan,
who believes the world can be a better place
if one chooses to believe that
none of the lemons of life
are molded.

©06.16.2018 ebn

There's one street light

There's one street light that hasn't changed
maybe a little yellower
perhaps a little dimmer
but still lamenting over the same trash littered dirt
choking out even the weeds that try to grow there

I remember that street light
the way I remember the dude on the corner asking for change
not that I recognize him
but that he's playing the same part
possessed by the spirit of the same kind of
resignation

It has seen the dirt drink dark blood
leaking terribly from foolishness gone too far
It has been disrespected by angry reds
bloodthirsty whites, and deadly blues
And it has seen my hot, tasteless tears
running like streams down my face in the summer night

It is an old man's memories
of a world blown away
like plastic bags chasing after cars speeding down side streets
the same tint of sadness
as the empty beer bottles clinking against the curb
beside a car parked because the tank is on E

It's the last sigh I can afford to spare this corner
a last tribute to ghosts of smiles and laughter and arguments
that used to play like old vinyl at two in the morning
when we were still young
before they left me to grow older on my own

©06.15.2018 ebn

Sweet talk

They said it's better with honey
but all I had was molasses
and a rusty knife

So when I cut myself opening the lid
that may as well have been glued on
the profanity in my spittle
didn't exactly woo her
let alone the dripping blood
that looked like hot sauce in that black
sticky stuff

And as my finger screamed
her face shriveled
like there was no chance in hell
she would let me touch her
or even come near her

So I gave up
and threw the jar as far away as I could
along with more blood than I cared to spare
and ran off to find a hospital
looking back only once
to call her a bitch.

©06.11.2018 ebn

Better than suicide

better than suicide
go find a home for your knife
sever the man from his wife
and take the children at night

burn all the banks down
free all that money can’t buy
tear out the tongues that have lied
erase the debts with their hides

open the storehouse
and make the rich stand in line
leave all their privilege behind
confiscate all you can find

slay every demon
wearing their badges from hell
each with a story to tell
bout how many bodies they felled

better than suicide
don’t let the world wear you down
take back your life pound for pound
upset the sky with the ground

©06.09.2018 ebn

The whole world is high

The whole world is high
This generation’s got a new take
They ride a different wavelength
A frequency I can’t take
I’m at the end of my line

Once upon a time
I was ahead of my time
Outlived the lost who all died
And now there’s no one outside
I’m the only one standing in my head

They say that its fate
Like music and social icons
Before you know it it's all gone
And something else takes its place
The legends become strangers
Lost to ancient history

In the middle of the room
I’m not the elephant I once was
Not John the Baptist
Or the boy who called out the Emperor
More like a candle flicker
Or a piece of dust
Disappearing in the shade

Sobriety’s dead
while zombies sing their own song
The melody is all wrong
But it doesn’t matter cuz
They can’t hear anyway…

©06.09.2018 ebn

What is this strange world I find myself in

What is this strange world I find myself in
windblown with a breath that has sanitized
but left some after odor which makes me nauseous
where sunrises are like calcium deficient eggshells
and sunsets are like watered down wine
and none of the faces I see on any street
know me

why do I feel like a runaway slave
escaped into a foreign land
where none of the art speaks to me
and the animals ignore me off hand
where the body language I encounter
is as much an enigma as the voices
and I’m stared at like a pitiful ghost
who has lost its ticket to heaven

where is my home in this godforsaken place
where my want has made me a threat
and the sky has lost its color
and I can’t find fresh water anywhere
and love is nothing more than a novelty
and death has its stamp on everything
and the mirror won’t look back at me
because it doesn’t see me anymore

©06.09.2018 ebn

Who put blood in the water I drink

Who put blood in the water I drink
What stains the windows with burning rain
Peering through drunken eyes into the darkness
Vines climbing out of the dampened ruins of my crypt

Her corpse, the naked leftovers of desire
Still breathes heavy on the cold floor of spent passion
And I am nothing more than the charred embers of a man
Burned alive against the wall of his lust

What creatures will scavenge through our residue
Or fly through the stale air of our dead sighs
Or crawl over our mortal remains
Reeking with the stench of lost dreams

Somewhere in the shadows of a decrepit church
Haunted by two sentimental souls
Is a crime scene graffitied with near silent screams
Like two eggs cracked open in a bowl

©06.09.2018 ebn

On his father’s birthday

A little boy sat on a rock by the side of a river
one knee going back and forth from side to side
his eyes staring out over the water
while looking inward, recalling glimpses from his memories
he could hear the water rippling by
the humming bees and bird calls here and there
the faraway sound of traffic and people
and the wind pushing gently through the tall grasses and reeds

he never came here with his father
but always felt close to him when he did
reflecting on moments they talked together
conversations not as important as the company
he read somewhere the kingdom of heaven is within you
and that in the kingdom, there are many mansions
places prepared for those who believe
and he thought, do they serve cake in heaven?

©06.03.2018 ebn