The sub is scrolling on her phone

Girls chat while doing makeup

boys brag on how far they’ve gone

Loud

Flusteredly I write

Paper plane whizz by

”Nice guys”

try to send their points across

If only they could see their fly

foiling their trys

Quiet, oblivious

writing ever writing

hand held high

every answer

she utters seems to be right

Teacher's Pet.

Prick.

Showy.

Goodie Goodie

Tires hobble down waterloged roads

Pedestrians rush mindlessly into homes

Twilight sparkles,the scent of petirchor sinking in

Soil ever toils,while wind billows a shiftless lullaby

Grease grips as hands ache while clutching tight

The taste of sweat mixed with rain dripping

Dripping,dripping

Rain running down a pane

intersecting, dissecting at every possible moment

drops

Finally

A maelstrom:

forming a vortex, no a bridewell

singular orbs once glassy

Now placidly bonded in their personal

estuary

a chain and ball once worn with glee

now a memoir

of identities discarded

droplets & duties

crumpled and worn

Once tepid now sultry

bonded or broken

Hygroscopy or annulment

?

People are uncomfortable with awkwardness.

We wrap ourselves in niceties,

all the while an influx of rude, personal inquiries

flooding to the surface

communication dictated

to the point of

empty

air

fist-full's of politeness

punch the truth

pulverising

politics

religion

and anything of interest

the mirage of personhood remains intact

I have learned to despise the television

It’s putrid channels

and lonesome views

the resounding sound of clicks and clacks

of ever pressing monotony

hovering remote control of hopes and dreams

turned ordinary.

The noisey nosey newstation

always important always the same

a counter-shock to the brain

The teley once seemed silly but now it’s rather strange

with it’s buttons and lights I’ve opted to use it for a brain

the wires and static engage me

much easier to be entertained

A sea of glass

A road of brown

let's take a walk through an ocean town

Waltz down the boardwalk

gaze at the views

surprised I'd bump into you

Or maybe the breeze is where you're at

with cool crisp winds

wispy waves that lap and lap

An ocean town

lighthouse in Maine

without it I'd have disdain

Black yet clothed in the rites and passages of another kind

perfumed in being either too much or too little

suburban never knowing the ways of basketball

or a skewed cadence

Urban loving Kanye, yet despising black media's

cowardice with a lack of black champions

instead rolling film after film of our demise

cinnamon,

the taste of spice dancing on my tounge

Tejano melodies are the backdrop of my growth

Quien eres?

I have no idea

Black with a connection less than the coco-butter rubbed into my skin