Inspired by Alan Ginsberg on a Miraculous Morning

I see the best minds of our generation

Fall silently upon the overly padded pillows on our parents’ beds

Our parents whose great grandparents slept in

the humid basements of slave ships

getting splinters in their hair

Our parents whose grandparents slept in fields of wheat

under an unaffected sky,

gripping the soil in clenched fists

Our parents whose mothers slept on mattresses

glaring tight lipped at the wall,

turned away from the whiskey drenched snoring of a lover

Our parents who hitchhiked across America

with $15 in their pockets

slept on concrete once

under the heat of a street light,

head cushioned by another’s sighing belly

I see the best minds of our generation

Fall victim of our blood streams

Treading against the current with fingers spread wide

and legs unrhythmically kicking

Stretching between our palms

the cats cradle of unwritten histories

and what we know in our souls, our blood to be true

but can’t quite find a partner to grab those strings

and yank them into the next pattern.


-Nora F.

A little bit like lightning

Change happens rapidly in a system that is too full.
Pressure builds behind a barrier, and builds and builds to a breaking point.
The weakness of the barrier and the pressure of the pressure find balance until one wins,
But the barrier is my anus and my mind would rather let go.

A little bit more like lightning

Ready to hit me, blocking my way,
The fire in her eyes might kill me.
Thought I was leaving she did, always does.
In a storm the change comes quick.
In a moment, from anger to tears.

Ain’t no fury like my woman’s wrath,
The old, old saying rings true.
Ain’t no pain like makin’ her tears.
Now it’s me, from anger to fear,
In a moment from anger to tears.


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