Time To Go

He was angry and alone
Stealing a few minutes
Just. A. Few. Minutes.
Of warmth
Of phone charging
Of time listening to
His sounds on
His crappy Obama phone.

Black and alone.
Angry black man.
Employees told to call the
Cops on sight.
On sight. Of. Him.
Call the cops.

It was wrapped around him
His pain. His anger.
His defense.
Cops approached hands on guns.
Time to go.
He moved slowly.
Reluctantly.
Preserving what he could
Of his dignity.
Time to go.

I felt his pain
And my relief.

Hurting is so much hurt

I suppose I could avoid caring
And avoid feeling this
GOD DAMNED PAIN
When I lose someone
That I don't even really know.

She's just a barista
She just makes me coffee
And laughs
And sings the orders
And shrieks for joy!
And tenderly checks
"Are you OK?"

I suppose I could avoid caring
But then I would miss
All of the time
All the joy
And I wouldn't even know.

I suppose I could avoid caring
But I won't.

(This poem is the second inspired by Rebecca!)

Discarded

It was just a cheap umbrella
And did its job as best it could
Until in one moment
Ripped by forces beyond its control
It was broken — torn — devastated

Then thankless
             abandoned
                    disdained

It was angrily thrown to the ground
Discarded

Better Lonely Than Afraid

I laughed as she thought that she wanted me.
I danced and leapt and she knew not my heart.
The joke was on me, though.
The one I wanted
Who may or may not want me,
(I don't know),
I will never ask – anything – because, really,
That would be way to much to risk.
Better to be alone.
Better alone.
Better lonely than afraid.
Afraid.

Philz

Today an angel
Made my coffee, (dark roast),
I paid the unicorn.

And a Half?

She said, "That is an idea and a half",
And is that sad because incomplete,
Or joyous because abundant?

Should I attend the whole
Taking the risk that thereby
I may lose the half?

Or would it be better to
Nurture the half trying to
Make potential immanent?

Sometimes a half an idea
Churns and wiggles and gallumps
Inside my brain then fades

I grasp for it, try to save it
But it turns from potential
To remnant to trailing mist.

Sometimes, though, if
I can keep myself from looking
Direct – can keep my gaze askance

It comes back and fills me
With such a sense of joy.
My old friend! How, forget you?

Space

Sometimes grief
Just needs a space
A gentle welcome
Comfort in the storm

Sometimes we have
To invite the grief
To give us space
Comfort in the storm

It's like a dance.
We bow or curtsy
Drawing closer or farther away
Comfort in the storm.

Oh. You Don't Even Know

The touch of your heart
Reaching out
Afraid to leave the world
Afraid to not touch the real
Undoes me.

Learn the violin.
Learn to sew.
Learn whatever
You fuckin' want

'Cause you know what?
You already have
A graduate degree
In heart.

Anything could happen.

This poem is about Chrystal, a barista at Philz at Golden Gate and Larkin. If you are in there tell her hi.

Strange

I walk down Larkin
And smile and nod
And say hello and
They smile too.
And all the time I feel.
I feel the sting
Of cuts under my sleeve.
I'm running LATE!
They didn't want to stop bleeding.