Category Archives: Heaven

Calculated Risks Sonnet

We all take calculated risks each day
To remind us that we are living free
Most of the time there is nothing to pay
But, occasionally, our luck does flee

We should all lament all of the accidents
That our foolish pride leads us to create
Fatal or criminal, they never relent:
We play with chance, until we meet our fate  

The liabilities that, carelessly,
We bring into our individual
Universes: both thought & thoughtlessly
Pay people eternal residuals

This man will never be at liberty
To make the mistakes of chance & then flee

“Motorcyclist killed after blowing stop sign, crashing into SUV in Queens” http://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/nyc-crime/ny-motorcyclist-killed-suv-queens-crash-20180721-story.html

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Self Pity Sonnet

The unrelenting exhaustion I feel

Is the sum total of my self pity

An amorphous weight that despair does seal

Rhyming this observation is shitty

While I am painfully aware of it

(My proclivity for melancholy)

I cannot seem to be free of this shit

(Such is the modern bourgeoisie’s folly)

While I might appear to be paranoid

Seeing enemies in familiar faces

These grim thoughts help to fill depression’s void

Cementing me in these dreary places

I do not feel worthy of these feelings

Garish 1st World problems have me reeling

Reality Sonnet From Photo

All the realities that we enjoy
Are merely some thin projections’ shadow:
What’s seen by us are visions we deploy
From the base existences that we know

The concrete reality that we see
From gentle breezes to birds & buildings
Are things that are & things we just believe
Existence is consciousnesses’ gildings

While it is painfully obvious that

There is an external reality

Within which we are all totally trapped

Without beliefs is falls to frailty

Here I have spent some time meditating

On the nature of truth: start berating

Headline Sonnet on Suicide

“[A] Body [Was] Spotted in Brooklyn Park

Just minutes after corpse found hanging

In [A] Waterfront Building[: A Sad Arc

This future’s possibility’s waning]”

The Daily News, who bothered to report

Said “The incidents are unrelated.”

But I want to dissent: sadness exhort

By depression they were both fellated

I feel the eddies that pulled them under:

A world of endless possibilities

With some chosen able to make thunder

Out of the reach of mere humanity

We are paying for the celebration

Of venal riches’ accumulation

http://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/nyc-crime/ny-metro-brooklyn-police-hanging-park-20180607-story.html

Second Amendment Sonnet

A firearm in hand boosts the weak psyche

•Fist, Stick, Knife, Gun• explains psychology

A pistol needn’t compromise with me

2nd Amendment’s a tautology

White Supremacy’s 2nd Amendment

Guns to bully & slaughter Brown People

First Indians then Negroes targeted

Racism’s the American steeple

I’d always suspected this about guns

They’re part of the American ego

They were somewhat less necessary once

Back when White Supremacy was legal

Guns’re inextricably linked to death

Taking over when compromise has left

https://www.publishersweekly.com/978-0-8070-4449-0

http://freakonomics.com/podcast/how-to-think-about-guns-a-new-freakonomics-radio-podcast/

http://www.citylights.com/book/?GCOI=87286100460830

https://www.stitcher.com/s?eid=53508079&autoplay=1&refid=asi_twtr

“My Bad” Sonnet

On the bleak avenues where we poor live
(The ones not swept for rich suburban kids)
A catastrophic drama one man gives
(Apologizing for tragedy lived)

For some personal shortcoming he died
(Known only to him & his assailant)
Maybe he cheated? Maybe he lied?
Witnesses reported he died valiant

“(The victim) was clutching his chest… saying,
‘My bad! My bad!’ His last words — he said
‘my bad’ four times. …Were his last words [living].
It gave me goosebumps. [The last price he paid]”

For some established rule of the poorest
Death was delivered to one man homeless

http://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/nyc-crime/21-year-old-man-fatally-stabbed-brooklyn-shelter-article-1.3841501

Paper Maché Identity Sonnet

The remnants of my dreams cling in fragments

Like the torn strips of wetted news paper

Soaked in Wheatepaste and glue to be pliant

I’m only a paper maché cover

The pasteboard mask that I present to you

Made up of the finest linen paper

Is a simulacrum that is untrue

Made to help me pull off this bold caper

Who is anything more than a puppet

Strings leading up to the bold puppeteer

(Or a hand reaching up to control it?)

Once we know this we can play without fear

The script that we are performing each day

Was written long ago & far away