June 20, 2011 15:40
I feel the crisp cookie-cutter crunch of carrots in my mouth
Mouth-watering texture touches the taste buds, and eye-opening processes take place
Placing the passing bystanders standing in the past in a world where the grass is always green, the leaves are always rainbow-colored, and water fountains sprout from the eternal geyser of life
Living in the eternity of now, knowing that not all is what it seems. Deceitful Indian women speaking in Jamaican tongues, you’re not from there. There is nowhere, you’re from here.
Hearing cars creating the sounds of baby strollers rolling along while a man paints a picture
Picturing a world where babies belong to their mothers, and where reading or writing wasn’t just a daytime activity at the park
Parking their reservations within the pavement-like pages consisting of concrete contemplations. Don’t take a picture of me
Meaning see me through the lens of your heart, through the three-dimensional sunglasses that are your eyes. I am reality
Realizing that the wind blows from the leaves of the books that jazz players move with their minds, time ceases to exist.
June 20, 2011 15:47
Five, four, three, two, one. You were always acting. You were always on camera.
That man impatiently and nervously lefting his rights and righting his lefts knows not where the slacks of one man begins and another ends.
Those same hands have been in the pockets of millions and I have tasted those same peeled and dried mangoes that you carelessly hold under the gaze of the familiar faces of strangers
We walk, we blink, and we sink in sync. Those same leaves on the branches of that tree are the cousins of the leaves of Joyce’s Dubliners hidden away in my backpack.
What separates the nurturer from the nanny? A pair of all-star converses conversing with a pair of low-cut jeans and sunglasses on the false mother of a son?
Yarmulkes, llamakas and Yams all go hand in hand like an old Chinese grandmother who may not be Chinese and her granddaughter who may never know who Mao was.
“Oh shit!” The road bikes turn the gears of cellphones without realizing that we’re all cogs in this machine. There are no differences between a cog and a dog, which is why I don’t eat meat.
I could never live here.
June 20, 2011 15:58
Why the fuck is that 10 year-old white girl staring at me? Possibly she realizes that it’s possible for my black ass to be a mirror to her youth.
A grimacing stare into the depths of an empty park causes him to move deftly while the short shorts and penny-loafers of scholars tread on the dreams and hopes of creativity and difference.
She strokes her beautiful blonde hair and Asia puts on the sandal of America, but where is the prize?
Tommy Hilfiger New York can never Gap itself from the flicks of a finger on a pentax, or the bumbling of a brother with a 12811 brochure.
Oh he sees you. He sees himself in you. It’s not in the natural setting. It’s not in the natural setting.
So entertained by pulling the bird back and launching it, she stays. We linger mistakenly thinking that we are one. Thinking that all of the bamboo shoots and metal poles can pull together into a pool of humanity.
Into a Sixpoint Crafted Ale that laughs in Arabic and throws up in Hebrew. Ha!
They taste each other’s feelings and hear the embraces of lovers.
Although, it seems like the old will always continue to push the old, and Bed Bath and Beyond will remain in the tattooed, mustached, and peacocked arms of the young.
Beautiful bubble-gum.
