Tomorrow

It’s the idea I like.
When I was still boy enough to sit under morning shower
Streams, the water pouring assurances for a proud day…
A fetus snuggling for warmth on bathroom tile.
It’s the jack off but not the cold comfort come.
Not the Finish at all.

Jon

A delusional negro regarding my better nature.
One who simply needs a corrective lesson in the old philosophy of man against man.
A push here and an epithet there are all he needs to be cast out from my present company.
Yet he remains a stubborn and fixed point,
An outlier of outstretched brotherhood… one I cannot repay.
No Atlas Shrugged or stumped Thinker of solidarity,
He is faithful to Jew and Gentile cosmic posterity.

I am on a sinking continent of slipping cerebral paint.
Quiver, Quiver, and Cower from the Sun on High!
Or hold onto the fleeting image of transfiguration with swollen and bloodshot eyes!
Can my split soul be made whole from peering into the pool of another’s faith?
I fear Belle Isle tolls for me still.

Black and White

The kicked in door by a polished boot was at least pure.
Where a flag was planted on a broken corpse and printed in its blood.
There were no limp-wristed pretenses or mewling crocodile tears then.
It was some comfort that you might as well have shut up before you died.
Indeed, only the masculine are wielders of such rippling evil.

Jesus sounds like that kid at a glee club before an atomic wedgie…
But Beatitudes is strong stuff,
And God-fearing altruism before Hellfire is some Bruce Lee shit.
Homeland pride grafted onto faith is the word of a wolf,
Bear your cross and be consistent.

Beneath Humanity

In cracked concrete and servant’s squalor,
Or luxury apartment decadence.
The kind and right word to a friend,
Or the blackening descent of flexed contempt.
A marathoning pornographic puritan,
Or dripping tissues in wastebasket metal.
An eloquent appeal to the executioner of lit orbs,
Or the acceptance as vermin in eternity’s pit.
The heart remains vicious,
And movement is unchanged.

Jew

Maternal love not yet cleft apart from the womb.
Birth seems as the sea before crashing upon mortality’s shore.
A fractured identity molds as shame in a murmuring synagogue.
Knowing not the Lord’s language or a present patriarch.
Displacement and disappointment,
A minority of a minority.
The sins of a father pass with his child waiting under rainfall.
An orphan in New England’s modern misery,
Yet young Moses drifted downstream as God’s elect.