I am unsure of a world where if we extend compassion toward another who needs it we are reprimanded by a section in the corporate code of conduct.
I am completely untrusting of a society that discards it’s elderly, favoring a collected isolation where all our grandpas and grandmas can die around the television playing canasta.
I am obviously not of this earth if when we see people who are unwell, vulnerable or in need we approach with severe apprehension if we even acknowledge them at all.
I am weary of seeing so much neglect for people who are just like us, with eyes, hearts, histories and ambitions. Just like us except that we have jobs, families, educations and the wherewithal to not allow poor decisions or questionable people dictate pivotal moments that affect our futures.
“Just like us“.
Just like “them“.
Those who have nowhere to go are more like us than we’ll ever know. Those who suffer beneath the discarded ends of our luxuries know this world in ways we petulant, privileged and mercenary swarms will rarely understand.
it tastes like nighttime, like a cocktail whose dark wetness clarifies what you utter to whomever is listening. like the wind or a lover whose whisper washes away all you have fought for to get to this place. it is the sunrise over buildings and the easy morning cigarette, the road trip to strange towns and an ice cream cone on a park bench. these pieces of pleasure compose my universe and as long as there are fields to run in, rooms to kiss in, and streets to rage in, these vices will always be the fuel for fun. whether a warm tea between palms or a bottle dressed with a flaming rag, we all share an explosive connection to everything we desire.
Snow has dropped a foot up from the ground and hasn’t moved for days. It’s a frozen, remarkable, quiet softening of routine schedules. We now pass each other slower, sharp and aware, briskly riveted with the barely tenable belief that we as humans control nearly nothing on this habitable rock. This sleepy burg isn’t on the East coast or Midwest. It’s people gathered in a little cliquey city who are now suddenly and glaringly bound to each other as this rare winter crushes through the streets indiscriminately, with stunning, humbling violence.
Bring in the new year with its brutal, sheer fear,
wring out the old year, beat what’s brought us here.
Bury our weary as we parade our cheer,
“Move along, folks, nothin’ to see here.”
Twenty Seventeen doesn’t mean our hands are clean,
in between the lanes and lines, swerving, we careen
into a class divide as colors collide, tweeted and streamed.
Televised destiny, technology unexpectedly
deciding what things mean. Meme.
Ring in the new year! All is wonderful far and near!
We have most of our limbs and beauty we find dear.
Whether we’re alone in a town or among those in your home,
new years appear to be clear only when we shut our mouths to hear.
winter storm warning. what a ring that phrase has! for us locals, a veritable crap-ton of snow dropped in the back yard last night that even has the truck wondering why it sits buried under fluffy white. cars lie empty and cockeyed on shoulders of the surrounding roads, hazard lights faintly blinking while their drivers presumably limped off into the drifts. they say an uber driver will arrive to my door within 20 minutes but i’m unsure uber realizes the hills in which i reside. i have a 4 o’clock shift downtown and the 12 inches of beautiful snow that’s stacked between me and the city is so daunting it’s laughable. a giggle occurs.
off to the clean-cut heroes of my automotive traction needs. on foot i shall acquire chains which i will then slap onto an old little truck and we’ll see just how fast off to the races we can be.
This right leg was broken. Tragically and frighteningly broken. Suddenly stricken and laid up for months.
The churning burn in this belly roiled imprisoned to the sound of moans, retches and grunts.
Bone wrapped metal, screwed tightly down like a wild patient, naked in restraints.
No magic in healing, but a rigid regime to never again be a slave to pain.