Bad Behavior

People blaming their bad behavior on Twinkies. People blaming their bad behavior on Ambien. People blaming their bad behavior on alcohol, sleepwalking, or sexsomnia. People blaming their bad behavior on the moon. People blaming their bad behavior on the weather. People blaming their bad behavior on a song, a book, or a movie they saw. People blaming their bad behavior on affluenza. People blaming their bad behavior on the idiot defense. People blaming their bad behavior on other people‘s bad behavior. People blaming their bad behavior on everyone and everything but themselves.

For the Preservation of Democracy

To the fallen heroes who’ve perished in the line of battle, those who remind us that it takes great courage and selflessness to fight for ideals far greater than ourselves. May our appreciation for your service be as enduring as the land you were defending. May we be mindful of our existing freedoms—those ideals for which you sacrificed your lives. May we, the living, continue to fight for the preservation of democracy in our own audacious way.

Inside my Mind’s Museum

Inside my mind’s museum there are relics of ancient jealousies refashioned into newly minted gratitudes. Huge dinosaur bones of can’t we all just get along. Bullets taking anger management classes. Dog-eared pages of our violent history rewritten into words of love and peace. Inside my mind’s museum there are foggy San Francisco nights with poems staining their teeth like strong coffee. Chords to unwritten Ziggy Stardust songs. John Bonham drums with a bass foot as heavy as the infinity of outer space. Inside my mind’s museum the ghost of Rosa Parks wails the righteously mighty decibel of equality while sitting at the front of the cosmic bus, refusing to get off until she gets off on the sweet song of let freedom ring.

In Alleyways Once Leading to Enlightenment

Hard to know where to start when searching out a cure for the diseased doings plaguing the world. All the hate and savagery packing brass knuckles, pummeling higher consciousness in alleyways once leading to enlightenment. Citizens stripped of human rights, fed a diet of freshly murdered lies. These days you gotta have a tender heart shielded in Kevlar. Gotta avoid dark shadows wielding gats. Dodge the bullets wanting to make booty calls with your brain. Hard to know where to start when searching out a cure for it all. Reach down deep inside. Grab a healthy dose of soul medicine. Get clean with yourself. Shake off the IV drip of all these nightmares.

It’s Best to Purchase Stock in the Present Moment

than squander your fortunes on the past. It’s best not to leave muddy footprints on the welcome mat of love. It’s best to speak slowly and carefully when traveling through the city of deliberation lest your tongue get ticketed for reckless driving. It’s best not to rent an apartment in low-class nirvana where false prophets speak in monotone and wear stinky shoes of extinction. It’s best to build a hula hoop from a beautiful tune that’ll keep you moving and grooving for days. It’s best not to hate the rain. It may one day lead your flower mind to bloom.

The History of Light

In the hate-filled streets, dissenting ideas travel underground so they will not be burned or banned by the light of day. Love carries a switchblade to ward off pain and heartbreak. Rebellious electric guitars send cranked amps on raucous midnight missions to shred all toxic laws, replace them with sweet music. Some ask how will they know which way to go to escape from beneath the heavy shadows of disgust and resentment. Some ask how will they recognize fellow truth-seekers along the way. The history of light is in the eyes of those who are drawn to it.

To Die For

If you crave the mention of sheep, try the Book of Revelation. If revelations are what you ache for, try holding a lightbulb above your head for inspiration. Better yet a lightning bolt. If lightning and thunder are your thing, it might be assumed you love rainy days. If you thirst for rainy days, try San Francisco. Just don’t leave your heart there. If hearts are what you’d die for, try being Cupid for a day. But be careful, don’t get charged with a weapons offense for carrying a bow and arrow in public. If the love of the public is what you need, try handing out free money. If being free is what you desire, I wish you all the best.

Shirts and Skirts

What of the clothing we believe hangs silently in our closets? Late at night things like shirts and skirts bump and grind, grow intertwined. Their arms and ruffles tangle up in loving tussles. Shirts and skirts bear fabric that’s static-free and fantastic. Cling lovingly to flesh like a sweet childhood memory. Shirts and skirts created by all races and denominations. Hallelujah the shirts and skirts creating their own United Nations. Shirts that become sad and wrinkled when skirts slip off their hanger. Skirts that grow two sizes too small when shirts shred from excessive wear. Shirts and skirts boogie till they drop. Right into the laundry basket for a good clean wash.

Due Process in the Court of My Heart

Ain’t nuthin’ but due process in the court of my heart. My adjectives provide solid evidence for the humble & gracious. Verbs battle racism & inequality. Nouns are all the people, places & things that I will fight to the death to protect. My judge, jury & hexecutioner got a flask filled with sass, guzzle triple shots of double trouble. Reflexes steady, hands ready to defend Mother Nature & Mother Liberty, encase their dignity in bulletproof glass. Some days my words pull double duty fighting an uphill battle against our collective psyche’s downsizing. Other days my spirit be singing the brightest of tunes—a thousand watts of innocence on the dark side of the moon.

A Little Knowledge is a Dangerous Thing

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, but not as perilous as a lot of stupidity in high places. Blood is thicker than water unless the water is from Flint. If you’re as busy as a bee you’re probably not dead as a door nail. Behind every great woman is a great man behind the eight ball. Don’t jump the gun when the jury’s still out. Poetic justice is far mightier than the powers that be. If you’re a chip off the old block of someone with a chip on their shoulder then your deus ex machina will probably make no bones about spilling the milk of human kindness and not crying about it. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks unless you’re barking up the wrong tree, in which case all bets are off.