the street unravels an unborn poem

the street unravels an unborn poem

into my pen.

the liquor store where i buy my

red wine

smells of

and sells nag champa

next to porno

why do rebel saints like me find that comforting?

that taqueria where I just bought non-organic

tacos with extra sour cream

is filled with sounds, oh sounds,

of soccer. whether you

planned a quiet dinner for one or two or not.

the whole kitchen comes out with white towels

in hand when they hear the cheering

but they are almost always too late to see the play

as Mexican tv does not have the replay tech of the

football channel.I feel sad that they cannot see the play.

out the window of my art studio

i see a young man crossing the street

and the street unravels an unborn poem

he is in a billabong sweatshirt

and carrying a bag of groceries from safeway

(a 20 minute walk away from where he is now)

and in his other hand is two dozen roses

and I feel happy for the woman in his life

he is a smiling man with something to look forward

to

my man is at work

but later he will bring me the spoils of fine

dining, cheese and almost done wine bottles

and we will speak of love

life  money poetry allies IP and IT and

then talk about how cute our cat is

this is because we do not have children

yet.

but we look forward to each other

the way that young man looks forward to

walking in smiling with two dozen roses.

There are others out on the street

from my second story view that I notice

and they are holding hands

smiling into eachother’s faces

with so much hope

and I think for a moment of those

who have less than them with the

nice shoes and sparkling watches

and instead of feeling

guilty I feel glad

wondering if the stats are yet to be in

on how folks having a good time

contributes to the global econonmy

and the spiritual economy.

branded consumers,

as if it is a bad word.

we are not just consumers

we are reality designers.

and for some reason only

poetry without walls knows,

I begin to think about intregrity.

Part !!

integrity and lack thereof is on

on my mind tonight.

my own and others

wishing(secretly)

that I could be the one with the

clean/car/closet/checkbook/cause

but alas I am not

I am a sparkling tiara

and a ruined piece fo birthday cake

I am a castle and the hood too

I am a queen and the garbage collector too

I am loved and loving and

lost and losing

all at the same darn time.

I am here now and

gone now too

and is it true

that truth is truth is truth?

I know nothing of such claims.

Sweetness and african violets

from my neighbor who has MS

are my truth.

I cannot get this life right.

I resolve to fail and I am relieved.

maybe this is what Jesus wants us to know

that we are going to fail no matter what.

I rise and fall

a hundred times.

Besides, Rumi  said it doesn’t matter if you’ve

broken your vow a thousand times, come

and yet again come.

now it is time to paint

and drink more wine…