Something

I’d die to walk into a bathroom, do my thing, wash my hands and look up, see: EMPLOYEES MUST WASH HANDS BUT EVERYONE ELSE? YOU DO YOU, which is kind of like saying IT IS WHAT IT IS, which is a kind of LET IT BE.

DON’T WORRY; BE HAPPY

It’s like that part in the bible when god thought it was all just good.

Growing up, from swing set
to cigarettes, my street had no swimming
pool, only bent circles
with no net, metal hoops
nothing
to catch inflated or pass,
except blunts packed
from older brothers
who rode a different bus
and all wore the same color.

Haircuts were tell your mom
if she has time for me
after dinner.
Not ask, because what’s grammar.
What manners? We’re neighbors.
Our fathers carpool.
On Fridays after work they drink
together, sink bottles
under
steel-toed boots
away from trashcans and wives
and throw attention at neither
except when there are messes
to clean up.

What’s missing is replaced
by what is there.

A living beat, rhythmic and organic our poetry
is freestyle cyphers, flow calisthenics
and eight-oh-eight olympics.

How else would you explain six streets
and one stop? I guess that’s why
we don’t

say no to a lung party

inspired as you sleep
i can’t contain this
heart next to yours

your music matches my outfit
and we go together
like a pair of socks i’m missing

you are what i wanted
and what i’ll regret giving up

spent too much time
memorized in movements

like pulling the door
open at the bank

taking out money to spend
on each other instead of
our futures we see in one self

and maybe it sounds cheesy
or maybe they’ll get jealous
by the many times each day
you push contents thru me