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.
-Tyler