That day,

In the 6th Communications Squadron building

I was on a project for the general

Designing a poster for the Corona conference

Where all the commanding generals meet

And the news was on the television in our office

Sometimes running in the background while we worked

On my monitor was the Tampa skyline

With the Blue Angels Cessna flying over

My hands gliding as it moved

Across the cityscape over the terrain and towers

Then someone turned the television up

And I turned my head to see

Myself caught in synchronicity as

The American Airlines Flight 11 &

United Airlines Flight 175

Crashed into North and South towers

of the World Trade Center

Surreality dawned on me

Later that day the General asked

To move the plane further away from the skyline

And you know what?

I couldn’t blame him

#skyline

Someone blew the whistle

And everyone’s talking

There’s a virus here

I fear

Seventeen

Down

I hear

I’m going out of my mind

Because I know the numbers

Are going to climb

Don’t tell me things are

Going to be fine

Wuhan is where it all began

And I’m just a visiting American

With a plan

To take the next to last train

Out of here

Before those tickets

Disappear

I have to outrun this disease

Before I run out of time

And they lock us all down

With me left behind

A ghost in a ghost town

#nexttolasttrain

Eros penetrates himself

After missing his Mark

On Psyche

Who doesn’t even try to be

Anything but herself

Unaware of her own

Powers

Her beauty blinds

Like an unapproachable sun

Unknowingly

Casting shadows of

Jealousy

In her marriage with Eros

She is caught in the embrace

Of a promise

A moonshine ultimatum

For the affection she received

As if she never gave anything back

That he remains

Unperceived

Concealing her

And his cowardice

From his mother’s

Vanity

Their union sways

On blind faith

And feeling

Senses devoid of sight

Riding on the enraptured

Short-lived night

Until the cock crows

At the break of day

When Eros pulls out

And he leaves

Psyche

Blushing

Almost innocent

With her story still longing

#whendayandnightisashortstory

What kind of truth

Are we searching for

When a body hits the ground

20 seconds

Short

Redacted stories of

Brown

Going

Down

In broad daylight

Because monsters no longer

Come out at night

They have come to the surface

Wearing blue uniforms

And a star

Under the sun

Where they have buried the

Truth

With a life

Their shadows are long

Winded

That run into the night

We have emerged from the caves

Seeking justice

Seeking peace

Out of broken pieces

Of bodycam videos

Unchained

With our eyes wide open

We reach out towards the light

For when the day turns into night

And the story is short

We demand a higher form

To cast off this allegory

In exchange for something

Whole

#whendayandnightisashortstory

Foil is my blanket

My mother is not in sight

She sleeps on the moon

no se puede evitar

#concentrationmoon

Ojiisan served in World War I

Wore his uniform with pride

To proudly say, “I am American”

To soldiers who don't care

Shikata ga nai

Stepping into fairgrounds

Harmony in discord

Okaasans birth in  stables

To babies born in dust

Shikata ga nai

Children pledge allegiance

To the flag with hands on hearts

Rejected by their country

Still happily they sing

Shikata ga nai

Surrounded by barbed wire

A village in a coop

Bullets shot from Towers

At bodies near the fence

Shikata ga nai

Otsukimi gathering

Rabbit lays down life

Beggar carries rabbit

To the harvest moon

Gaman

If you concentrate you can see it

The rabbit on the moon

#concentrationmoon

Coined the Super Bowl by Kansas City Chief

Lamar Hunt

These stadiums stand on the edges

Of Dug-out depressions

Hiding depressions of the men who

Play in them

American gladiators playing

The game of champions

Concealing the brutality spilling

Off the field

A broken bowl of black

Bodies in motion

Trying to make it

No matter the cost

Being sold a dream of being

More than just black

To white profiteers

Who coven them

#brokenbowl

Dark vessels within a vessel

Drift through dark water

In a fate worse than slaughter

Where the sounds of iron clank

Across the plank

And packed bodies in the abyss

Breathe in salt and feces

Bodies beaten by the breeze

Where their blanket is the mist

In which they freeze

And with every breath

Some pray for death

To pull them out of hell

To fly them home

And leave an empty shell

For fortune smiles on those who died

To never know the tale

The deeper thrashing of the hide

That follows every sale

In a black and bleak market

Where men and women are sold

Their heavy hearts worth more

Than their exchange in gold

In the heart of darkness

#darkwater

“No refuge could save the hireling and slave

From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave,”

It’s hard to hear

The susurration

Of storm flags

Battered by a breeze

In a land under siege

Drowned out by the barrage

Of bombs bursting

It’s hard to hear

The susurration

From freak flags flying

In the dawn’s early light

Blocking out

An unsightly piece of

His story

Songs of the  black man’s plight

Lost in the fog of

Of Pat-RIOT-tism

Now in rage of racial reckoning

It’s hard to hear

The susurration of

White noise carrying

Monochromatic tones

Of supremacy

Land of the brave

Home of the slave

Owners

Where black is the Bull's

Eye for brutality

It’s hard to hear

The susurration

Of names trending

On twitter

Shuffling against the

Apotheosis of apathy

Of All Lives Matter

Their thoughtless prayers

Never sent to heaven

It’s hard to hear

The susurration of

Names worn on  T-shirts

And worn out bodies

Walking memorials

Marching in protest for those

Bodies piling in numbers

Buried in statistics

It’s hard to hear

The susurration of

“I can’t breathe”

“Please don’t kill me”

“Mama”

Voices usually lost to a jury

Sorrow

Full of justice

Delayed

Always with the promise of action

UPDATE:  On April 20, 2021 the jury finally heard and the promise

of action was finally served!

Rest in Power, George Floyd

#susurration

American anxiety

Is an underbelly of knots

Tied in with the times

Politicking with the clock

As the senate’s influence is  sold

And bought

While a paranoid right

Hold their guns tight

And yet

Again and again

Another man’s shot

American anxiety ties not so neatly in

This knot

Of words

Where apprehension finds its home

This tired poem

Running out like that last man’s  breath

Just another day

Just another death

Because death brings no trouble

When his clock runs out time

A pulse out of rhythm

This poem of rhyme

Still senate doing nothing

Might as well resign

This

#rhymetime