Demeter

The air smells deeply of earth
of rich dark shiny soil
that has just been turned by a plow.

I can see it in the field on the farm next door
dark streaks of dirt laid between
the lines of golden straw that had covered the earth
until the plow came by
and turned it over
evicting earthworms and laying bare
the secret spots where scattered seeds shall take root.

I pick up my wine from the table
and lean back in my chair.
I lift the glass to the the sun and a beam shines through,
the ray revealing rainbows hiding in the wine.

I look at the dirt in the cat scratched field
through my glass
the sun and wine bleeding red across the earth.
Soon enough, soon enough I know
the sun and the rain and that deep earthy smell
will fill my glass again.

What Adventurers Do

I want to do what adventurers do
and travel by canoe to Timbuktu.

I want to be a sailor on the sea
on a wooden ship called the Annabelle Lee.

I want leaves to slap my face
as I blaze the way to some exotic place.

I want one more chance for a last great romance
where she and I dance on a moonlit street in France.

But instead I spend my days locked inside a box
watching seconds die as they race across the clocks
and I find myself wondering why people say
that doing that is what makes a productive day.

A Curious Question...

Why do people cower when they see a black man on the street
when, statistically, I'm more likely to be a psychopath than any black man you'll meet?

I do so appreciate when people commit the sin
of judging a man by the color of his skin -
it so easily disguises the truth when all they see
is the color of my skin and not the real me.

So when you're stuck on that cold, lonely roadside
and you silently thank God I stopped to offer a ride
enjoy your sense of relief
breathe out, put on a smile
and though it shatters your every belief -
you'll be dead within a mile.

Sit next to me, talk with me, be dazzled by my charm
nothing in my demeanor will raise any alarm.
I've learned how to hide, to cover and disguise
the killer that lives behind my eyes.

I live for the moment when the innocents finally realize
that I am the bogey man, the one that you should fear
not that black man your refused to look in the eyes
and the stab of my knife makes that so clear.

In 100 Years

wake work worry sleep
wake work worry sleep
this is the schedule that I keep
wake and work and worry and sleep

and I'll wake and I'll work and I'll worry and I'll sleep
until age takes the means to earn my keep
then I'll just wake and worry and sleep
wake and worry and sleep...

wake worry sleep
wake worry sleep
that is the way
I will pass each day
until age takes my reason away
and I have nothing left to say
so I'll wake and I'll sleep
and wake and sleep...

wake and sleep
wake and sleep
this is all that will be left of me
in a decade or maybe three
all I am will be something I used to be
until time plays its final tick for me
and then I'll sleep

sleep

sleep...