The Relativity of Agony…



The nuclear fallout of a lie

So powerful the dye

Snakes its way-into every life-it

Breaks the mold, impending strife-it

Takes the souls-of every washed-up child

The tsunami of the call of nature will divide

Human nature is but a pawn, do or die

I hate to see the hunger it provides make you cry

Toss out the rhyme

I want to see you sweat when you hear


Most people will once upon a time fear it

It’s the attention of a demon in your house

Preying on your unit, infecting you when you spoon it


Is where it finds you, invading your dreams

I’ve tried to find meaning in the ugliest things

But something stares back and it has no face

You don’t know its watching because you believe in race

You believe in consumerism, except what’s consuming you

More than sticks and stones

More than ticks and thrones

I realize, you’re out of the box, so pack it up

You don’t realize, you rely on the fox, so back it up

The wolf can come in many forms and many norms

It’s inside the books you sell, the lies you tell

The things you yell, the ring of the bell, at close of life

So understand the meaning of youth is edge of knife.

Farewell to the beautiful things when we create

For the vanity of our souls consumes what’s on the plate.

The Mass Killing of Nonsense…


Loyalty and power,

I gotta take a shower,

My salary’s forgiveness

In history I cower.

The punishment of the flower,

The petals rain like dower,

I wish the clashes louder,

Then I’m reduced to powder.


The sharpest devils were created in wealth – in wealth.

That money power getting bad fa ya health – fo yo health.

I climb the lady of liberty,

Holding the fire of infamy,

Damn girl, how tall ya. gotta. be?

How much a man gotta pay for a woman to be free?

If it costs him his life, the debt is paid.

For just an hour a day, living death is the wage.

I can’t even start about the water we wade.

Constituting ignorance, no more to a slave.

I predict the government will feed on your hate,

And product your anger to the tricks of the trade.

There’s more to the story,

I’m pissed and poorly,

Ganked and gory,

Just ignore me,

Cents and sore knees, forgetting my name is Jason? Lord, please!

They’re brainwashing with:

Trumping dildos,

Jumping bimbos,

Crazy info?

Know what you’re in fo,

When you,

Turn on the telly, the venue, is,

Just another place for kids, welcome,

We’ve got another murder for your cerebellum,


You’re welcome!

Mosh! Jump up, jump up, and don’t frown, when,

They murdered more babies in jars.


That is if your mother’s in a jam…


I don’t know, half past midnight in the twilight zone,

Which means absolutely nothing when a dog is a bone,

Under your house,

When you mistake your cat for a mouse.

How many things do I have to get backwards,

For you to realize I’m doing math with slick words,

Calculating fascination, a concoction, a plantation,

Of seeds so small they appear not to exist,

Turn the page and out comes a fist!

Rattling down the road is canned laughter.

Wait up a minute I’m down in the rafters.

Beatnik Turntable…


I’ve sat within that crowded room.

Elbows, like the knobbed tree branches of a forest,

sway with mirth and freedom.

Yet, my heart lost its fire long before.

And as I sat, I sighed the rousing air

of the room with carouseling dancers,

and felt that no one was there; not even myself.


There are many things that solitude can inspire.

We desire what we can only hope to have again.

Yet, how lucky am I? I dream of things I’ve never known.

I see her hug his hip to her hip, whisper in his ear…

What did she whisper?

He will tell one dear friend,

and that friend,

will feel what I feel – a burst of elation, a drop of envy – a deadly cocktail.

And that friend will go on and wonder, “What if she were mine…”

And I know because I was that friend who tasted her in his words. And dreamed.

I dreamed until the dreaming kept me awake

until the dream cannibalized other dreams

until the dream put visions of her in the clouds

until the dreams, dreams, shattered-my-soul!


I was the one who told my friend about her.

I crafted her beauty and charm with such power to disarm, using my silken language,

and he tasted her essence in my words.

So, now I sit here.

I sit here in this room filled with carouseling dancers.

I can only sigh,

as I watch her dance.

Lady Sea…


The sweetest words

embitter my Lady Sea.

Nor can fire evaporate

that raging ocean.

When a man speaks

with voice of mouse,

hear her shriek-ethereal

nullify even love-potions.

I darest ask her,

mustn’t I dare?

Wouldn’t even a grimace,

tease my loving stare?

Lady Sea, storm in your soul.

Were you to splatter like glass

wouldn’t I still find nourishment?

Just an element of you.

Just a taste.

I would consume it infinitely,

leave none to waste.

Lady Sea,

lady see, I whimper, I pine.

Your wish is thine.

Lady Sea,

hair like nimbus sail,

I paddle at your door…

To no avail.

Unless You Shine for Me…

And were it not for the sun

would there be dream?

Would cloud cry upon the day?

I would find, you and I, slavishly cuddled ‘round dragon breath

and every sight would be for sore eyes, lest they be blind.

Every man would be a beggar.

Children cackle in the dark.

Women, free of childbirth, are instead consumed by the world.

Without the sun there is no age.

We are what we haven’t chosen to be.

This is what I see when you’re not with me.

Emptiness separating reality from understanding.

And I call to you.

And I call to you.

And I scream for you!

And I boil alive in the broth of my own anger…

Whatever I can cook up to feed the hunger that you inspire.


a peace shatters the storm.

A shaft of light jousting the gloom like heavenly charioteer.

What else could it be?

It is you, so long as you shine for me.

A Common Man


So there I am at Starbucks.
I notice some guy at his computer looking over what appears to be a story in Word (the documents just have a certain “look”).

I start talking to him and you just know the type. Immediately, he seems guarded, perhaps even a little condescending when I explain to him that I, as well, am a writer.
“I’m a writer, too.”
– smiles and nods –
Evidently, he was going through his Master’s in Creative Writing (from Sarah Lawrence).

I mean, obviously, I couldn’t compare, right?
I mean, I’m black and… what’s that school where you got your ‘Bachelor’s’ anyway?

Who even knows if he was thinking these things – either consciously or unconsciously.

Regardless, he’s busy (he later says) and not privy or willing to engage in conversation – I assume – from the present manner of his posture and gestures.

Despite this, I ask him if he’d like to read one of my poems. He agrees. So, I search for something I assume would entertain him. I ended up just showing him my most recent poem.

I wait patiently, making observations of my hand’s texture and the patterns in my clothing – things that always fascinate me.

A minute or two later, a brief expression of amusement is subverted by an expression of a bizarre meld of confusion and curiosity when he asks me, “Did you write this?”

It seems so alien. It seems so trite and disrespectful because I had already told him it was my poem and it’s not like people go around showing other people’s poems to random strangers, asking them what they think.

So, was this what the fishing hook snagged? Was this the cockeyed beast lurking beneath the waters now flopping on the deck with its mouth gaping, telling all its secrets?

What “color” do you think this man was? You probably already have an assumption… is that your fish-eyed beast? Is that your unconscious villain?

Typically, when people read my writing, they don’t expect much. I have good articulation and diction (usually) and I don’t pose myself to be threatening (unless I’m nervous). Yet, for all of that, I still come across as unassuming. Intriguing, yes, but almost benign. Like anyone else. I come with no airs of celebrity or superiority because those things aren’t true. I’m just a common man.

So, people read my work and (given its depth and wealth of ideas) they’re suddenly baffled – or astounded. Is this a common man or is he not?

Who knows for how long this effect has any weight. The poem’s words sink in then dissolve like salt and the person is free to carry on as they wish, either demystifying my new mantle or continuing on with their mission.

So, as I stated, this man was busy. He said he would connect with me on Twitter but I’m not sure if he ever did.

It’s one of my missions to meet writers wherever they may be.
On that day, weeks ago, it seems I had run into a stalemate.
After all, I never got a chance to read his work, did I?