We thought court racism was done
the judicial battles all hard won
til hatred took another son
and we found justice suddenly gone.

For we discovered when a killer
stalks and scares and shoots a youngster
all he needs is just one juror
To sell his self-defense to as a cover

So now I tell my teen-aged son
that when he steps out on his own
he must make sure that he's alone
and not the target of a gun
aimed by some murdering racist scum.

a violet
does not shrink from the foot
that stepped on it
only its scent remains paraphrased...

i.

in my dream,
I called out your name
but you were sleeping

I was being chased by an unknown
assailant and then the dream
ended

perhaps love
is frightened to death

ii.

no matter how many times

I write fuck me fuck me fuck me,
I want it bad.  hard.  pulsating inside
me,
it ain't the real thing, never is.

Irony is her cursor
in a field with little yield,
as jungled laws prove their tenacity has merit.

Nonetheless, Fate, skillfully attributes Life
with a magically different set of circumstancess,
one that whispers of a darker loveliness.

And so, as with the heart of any Mother
she finds favor in the serendipitous manner,
that Life's winds highlights her exotic beauty.

The ferry arrives in the deep green water valley
where we wait rocking on the wharf,
brooding bush behind us
and the bird calls intermittent now
and less urgent.

The engines churn into overload, reversing
and the slave ship rattle
of the deck hand's throw and slide
seems almost mythic.

The quiet commuters,
patient as fishermen
and the young girls in their shorts
laugh into the white wash
and share secrets