Despite the fact that it was Christmas Eve

And I was traveling alone
To an unfamiliar part of the city
Reading Paths To God By Ram Dass
In a seat by the door

Despite the fact that you
Left one in the car with me
Who I then grilled for info
About how to locate you
To track you down
And make you pay
For what you did to me

Despite the fact that nothing
Was taken but my
Sense of security
And faith in humanity
As my broken glasses
Hit the subway floor
After you struck me in the face
And scurried out the door
Laughing with your friends
Onto the platform

Despite the fact that
The terror in his eyes
While I threatened him
Inspired me to let him go
With no recourse

Despite the fact that I am reminded of
Another teenage boy many years ago
Screaming out the window of a
Moving vehicle startling strangers
Just to make a girl laugh

Despite the fact that after
Eighteen years in the city
I shamed myself for not being
More aware of signs to move
To another part of the train car
Or a seat away from the door

Despite the immeasurable guilt
And the lumps of victimhood
That have and will be felt from
These small cruel acts

Today

I forgive both of you

Addicted to running 

To hearing every voice
The ringing is a ghost
Of love

Telephones that took our time

We used to attach ourselves
To common things
Smuggling in new light

Arrowsmith Trans Am REM

Now we distort the stolen titles
Fighting the grinder of spellcheck
The cold hard algorithms
Softening us up with baby talk

Google Twitter YouTube Paypal

We spent weeks in the woods
With a single token collect call
Spoke of my latest badges of merit
Or how many bug bites I had sustained

Even then I had very little desire to talk

Luckily there is no deadline for love
No such thing as too much love
Flowers are telephones
They like to be admired
They love to be loved

And they love you

I understand the sound of my voice

May cause you to prefer
The company of wolves
But my voice is my voice
The similarities it has with others
Are the beautiful work of life

In you I see the reshaping
Of a myth with science
That tells me that you were not
Once a part of me
That I was once a part of you
And at this moment
A new myth forms
Like morning light
Abandoning the dark night

All

These old feelings
Like books
And grand sailing ships
Clear windows of glass
To new worlds
Now something different
Heavy chains around my neck
Running through sand
Disguising the path
Inspired by the whip
Of totally different worlds
Not great but perfect

Sometimes I need to hold you

Like a baby holding a baby

The sun is not up yet
You make me pay
You make me pay

The rain brings out the forest smells
Kids are walking to school in it
The dog barks at them from inside

Every day
There is so much more to learn
To burn away

We are climbing mountains on our knees
Building bridges with match sticks
The castle walls are waffle cones

Do they all know how similar we are?
How hard it is for love
To age

As American kids our lives were
Governed by burning cigarettes
Trips to the liquor store
We were so excited about our boredom

Analyzing every breath
Like it was starving
In a war torn country
Failing to convince our parents
Of things

We were right
The look of a squirrel
Is the same as forty thousand
Screaming fans

How does the dog understand the light
How could I know
This is the old man
I would be

Open Poetry presented by 8th St. Publishing Guild 1 year party / Sat. Nov. 17 @ Revolution Records (KC, MO)

It’s the one year anniversary of the Open Poetry readings at Revolution Records. We’re going to celebrate with several featured readers, an open mic, free wine, & a very special announcement from 8th St. Publishing Guild & Revolution Records. You definitely don’t want to miss this one! Open to all.

Featured readers will include Matt Roth, Evan Thomas, & Patrick Sanders

Revolution Records Kansas City
1830 Locust St, Kansas City, Missouri 64108
7-9pm
FB Event

8th St. Publishing Guild is a Kansas City-based publisher of avant-garde/surrealist poetics. We love submissions. To submit or learn more, visit us online or come to meet us in person at our monthly readings.
https://www.8thstreetpublishing.com/

Go, Kansas.

Sharice

You can call it a blue wave. You can call it a pink wave. You can call it every color in the rainbow. Being a landlocked state we don’t talk a lot about waves in Kansas. But for the first time since I moved back here, nearly 6 years ago, I feel good about my political representation in Congress and for Governor. Last night the congressional district that I live in elected Sharice Davids: the first female, openly gay, Native American congresswoman. And that is really fun to say!

We also elected female democratic Laura Kelly for governor. We dodged a bullet in that race and I’m sorry to say this is probably not the last you’ve seen of her opponent Kris Kobach (Trump has already offered him a job in his administration).  But we’ve sent a message: that the majority of us in Kansas do not agree with his divisive opinions about voter fraud and the proliferation of guns.

I’m not saying that we don’t have a long way to go in changing the optics of our state. Racially motivated shootings, rigged polling locations, and maybe the worst governor in the history of the world are all part of our recent history.  But they are not the whole story.

I like to think of this election as a big log on the fire of a slowly growing light. Hopefully, this light will eventually grow big enough to show the rest of the world, what I’ve had the chance to see over the course of the past six years living in the Kansas City area. It’s a lot harder to change things from the inside out. And you can’t be more middle-America than Kansas. But there are a lot of beautiful, talented, and inspiring people around here.

So, go Kansas. Good job! Let’s take some time to celebrate and appreciate the work we’ve done. Then let’s get back out there and keep showing the world that the truest voices aren’t always the loudest or most shocking, that in our hearts we all want the same stuff and that the world is made for all the colors in the rainbow.

Approved Transactions

I am never alone
Swiping at the pain
Touching the dirty glass
There’s nothing new about a Coke Float
Unless it is a New Coke Float

I pull through you like a car wash
Eyes like trains
Trained eyes inspire vertigo

Dharma at Arby’s
I don’t want to know how I did today
Tell me how I found love in parking lots
We laugh at tenses
The electric wind covers conversations
With simulated randomness
I could shoot a movie
“Bring something back”
We explored galaxies from the back seat
That tree was Vietnam
The streetlamp is oxygen

I don’t need to know
The rain puts you here
The window places us and then
I unlock my bicycle and ride home

The land is our ocean

There are no beaches
In this town. No rolling waves to
Wash our un-wanteds back out to sea

Here we bury our trash
Dig it up after 48 hours
Then devour it
Slathered in barbecue sauce

No sliding foam across the sand
Or salty wind to mask the
Seagulls’ starving cries.

The sky has no competition
There is no port of entry. We
Have no way to see them coming

Things just pop up
Like grass. We cover
Them in colored blankets
And offer up a contract
Like soldiers in a war.

But there is no war. There
Is only God and weather.
And we do not fear the weather.

Like a mirror pointing outward
We long to be ourselves
In the reflection of the world
Like a painted mirror.
Like lipstick on a bowl of oatmeal

It’s the sin that makes the
Fucking so good
The sandbags of guilt that
Keep the church basement dry

Pure pure. It’s been so long.
The kind of pure you could just kill for.

We covet what we have
A peak within a valley
It’s different for cows

Flatness
The earth, canvass, the screen
It all disappears when we sleep
Even in sleep mode
We act like it’s the same
And it is