WEST VINE PRESS BOOK RELEASE DATES (Fall 2016) October 11th. West Vine Press #3 Sampler October 25th. Slow Living by Kenyatta Jp Garcia. November 1st. Poetic Poverty by Andrew K. November 8th. As…
“who here remains who never rose wild
from captive sleep
hope in dreams?
whose vision is anything less than a weed?
to make the fairytale complete,
there must be a sacrifice. . . ”
Been rubbernecking. Keeping an eye out for where time took an odd moment to add an extra scar to the road.
The last ditch that took some effort to carve. To assure a certain waylay for someone just needing to get away.
The truth for all its power sets everybody else free but itself. Instead chooses transformation. Settles for concealment. To be protected from witnessing itself.
Can’t turn my back on myself but my back also won’t look me in my face so what good’s a back anyway? If it didn’t come with the body why would anyone even bother having one?
The faults furthered the cause of the tectonic shifts. Line breaks will always be a part of this world. Each side is a stanza. The earth quakes suddenly understanding another version needs to take place. This place.
“… can never forget
Once every wall was water…”
Goals were never stated
by and for
bend of shame,
bringing to rot
“can you make it rain harder”
(Prince – before the Super Bowl)
the world don’t behave
and why not
what else is there to be
couldn’t make anything
when the lakes rose, doves found higher ground. there are tiers. places to rise to.
it’s not all symbols,
but maybe it is. if so, own it. that’s how freedom works. it’s how bats become bigger than the night. how an echo becomes the cave. how in and out transcend placement.
and how does an elevator
have the strength to
what will it take to coax a cessation out of death?
as if life
ever had a choice
there’s no other king in town
ain’t got no money
pretending the rest
a little much
. . .
what’s the other?
the morning papers,
who can’t be asked
anything anymore the way it used to when it was cherry
and only a red corvette could be
“when I say we sometimes I mean I and the voices I’ve heard or the voices I’m searching for. and sometimes when I say us, you can join in. and sometimes when I say you, I can’t imagine who I’m thinking of. and sometimes when I say they, it’s about me. and sometimes when they don’t like it, I revert back to I and start again.”
Read the rest here: http://inferiorplanets.com/issue1/2016/02/10/garcia/
Our heart. Yes, ours. If only ever. What a want to share one with someone/everyone else.
All is lost but we’ll find it again. I promise if you promise too.
I’ll never wish for sleep. I only ever want to be awake. I don’t want to miss a minute of when things get good. Get great. Become what they could always have been.
I wan to witness equality. All I need to see is consistency then I can rest in peace.
I’m trying to keep a little laughter in me but it’s getting hard to do. Somebody told me what to do. Dig into your half of a heart and give me some sound advice. A sound. A lyric to sing to myself when I’m feeling lonely. A verse to hold onto for the uphills when my legs are burning. Give me the song that’ll have me begging to meet the sirens. The sirens here to help us. The sounds of emergencies averted. The sound of a miracle worker’s footfall.
Justice isn’t blind. It’s bound and gagged and I don’t know who’s getting off but I know it didn’t come cheap.
Don’t trust me with your money I’ll bet the house on us. We have to win. We didn’t come this far to lose even if we’re losing now. Now and again.