Dear Carlos: Poet & One Man Band,

have heard these words so many times,
always bemused, trace~smile appearing,
but this time, it hit me like a Blue Mountain
extra hot, micro~window-waving cup of java Jamaican,
that is me, this was me, always, even before
I knew how to poem to music that I had always
head-heard, before I understood that these,
my songs were soul~pieces escapees, my…legatees

I leave them them in puzzle form, surely a piece,
or three missing, but no matter, each piece an
individual composition, standing alone, but the
big picture no one will ever see, understand but
that is the poet’s audience, his own one man band,
no bandwagon attached, a solitary figure quiet
contented with his disconnected discontentment,
a lifetime spent in refining, defining…refinishing

2 poem themes crisscrossed cross in my head,
interweaving themselves instead of becoming
two cells, one split apart, I call this process ruefully
reverse me~mitosis, blending that coffee with
a quarter cup of white milky, leaving me a caramel
colored confection, perfect in unity of trinity, that
combined cuppa plus my insides warmed, cozied,
the heat combined with the fire inside to write…one more

on the “two-to-write list,” in the “draft”y attic chamber,
were two titles, twins, now conjoined; the first, an
expose of why I choose to write these poems, and
the other, why I have a life of few friends, the few
chosen ones; the inherent conceptualizations differ but
cross the same forests and deserts, hid in my own Northwest Territory, rugged and inhospitable, where to survive, it required 
accepting lonely solitude, with a ragged welcome, & an honest mirror

an unequivocal, no equivocation permit, that telling yourself grand lies was pointless because you were a criminal on trial, prosecutor, defense lawyer, judge  and jury of your, ha ha, peers all rolled into one, there will never be a higher court wanting to grant an appeal, what is…well, is; a sad bliss but after decades of trial and many errors, wonderful and awful partnerships; it was modestly
perfected, dis-satisfyingly…satisfying

this goes on too long, like an intolerable avoidance of
answering, there, a phony confessional declarative; the whys un~provided, so fall back on that all encompassing
defense of temporary insanity that was locked in those
self-same sealed cells, carriers of my tainted DNA,
looking like bagels~donuts with holes, no, voids,
a central, air pocket of emptiness, with no surface to fill full,
or to adhere to, a drifter, an observer, never, a full participant

these empty holes, were just fried dough, sugar coated,
a fleeting life~lies of no substance, that I’ve spent
a lifetime trying to fill with worth, and I’ve written a few
moments of kindness, unqualified unreserved loving, but
too few to justify my existence to myself! That’s what
happens when you judge yourself, no defense strategy
can succeed, the fight is fixed, but I write on vaingloriously
hoping that there is yet, a flawless poem waiting within,
that a one man band, can both play and enjoy…

fav poets: Whitman, Hafez, Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, Pradip and so many countless others on this site…

Can I help you dear child?
You look lost.
Is there something you need?
A drink, some food?

Why are your eyes so hollow?
What is it that you've seen?
I cannot help you if you do not speak.
Come here, let me sit you down,
Nothing can hurt you, not in this town.

Please don't look at me in that way,
I come in peace, what have you to say?

Dear Mr. One-In-A-Billion
I'm one of the billion
trying to get some of your billions
but I'm just part of the sum of your billions.

I'm the one in your pocket
with only ones in my pocket
avoiding guns and rockets
that came from your pocket.

You keep a gun to my head
by putting guns in my head
with the guns you have led
bringing guns to a head.

I became your captive
you're a velocicaptor commercial raptor
with a manner didactic
to mandate moralistic methods of capture.

When I ask you to stop
I'm thwarted by cops
when I ask you to go
I'm thwarted by no's.

You tell us to fly when you know that we're hurt
you say it's the sky when we know that it's dirt
you give us a tie when all we have is a shirt
until the day we die and no longer have worth.

You providers provide
petite provisions
then dastardly deride
demographic divisions

parading pride
parroting patriotism
but the parrots died
during the schism.

You don't trust me because of my bank account
I don't trust you because of your body count
you don't care because your banks can't be counted
I care too much because every body counts.

Monopoly is a boar's game
the banker controls the board
the banker determines the gored
and property determines the score.

For equality we must equalize our equity
and make austerity analogous to antiquity
allowing annihilation of our antipathies
so we can delete deficit driving deficiencies.

We need charity baked into the system
so parity will be caked onto our vision
so we can stop worrying about cheddar
and give our cheese to the beggars

but you're the only baker around
with a shop full of dough
that you throw into the oven
to feed us sugarcoated lies.

Please stop feeding us tryptophan
through avenues like Instagram
or other similar brands
infecting culture with a businessman

until we're business ******
except for a select few
one of whom is you
and your billionaire brood.

It’s been some years that we have grown
To think of all that made our home
The nights are worst, or so it goes

Our ‘spring would be fifteen and nine
If we had let them both survive
The dogs would live with love divine
We could’ve swam with massive fry

Or sang again while we’re alone
At home or through the telephone
Basked beneath the wild skies
To give a laugh and take surprise

A hundred hearts, one day each year
And two to hold our loved ones near
Who knows what else would be, my dear
Or might’ve been in place of fear

And now I wait for something more
Til death doth part our lives before
The time has come, whence we’ll be sure
It wasn’t worth a life less pure

Quality is dear
Heaven is not cheap
Neither is the earth
To be anyone’s for good
Then before losing
One’s hand or foot
Seize the opportunity
Get in gear
Leave good for the better.

Like the first light:
The power candle
Sunrise on the golden high
May fall for for the rose
At first sight
As if the veiled night
Popped rosy on its black mole
But always before long
Back to the night the sun is gone.