Consensus

 We reached consensus

Slavery is bad

and so is rape

and Royalty

we're getting there

on war

racism

and misogony

We still embrace poverty

because we're not willing to let go

of the flip side

of that coin

Some must starve

and die

that other's my live

closer to the sky

They told me I was special

Destined

I'm destined

its not supposed to be this hard

I'm special

I'm gifted

I'm meant to for something grand

My faults

they are quirks

Its all part of my charm

Pay me

Pay me

I can't work at Chipotle

I can't

just can't

It isn't what was meant to be

for me

for me

it isn't what I'm meant to be

Ground Chuck

Every punk in Sacramento

Every artist, and every kid

knew the legendary Ground Chuck

and all the things we said he did

Could it possibly have been true

was he cursed, was he blessed

with chalk or sticks or strings

hammering out a holy mess

Chuck the metalhead, punk, and artist

chalking sidewalks for a meal

running across the street to tell the awfullest joke

and my laughs were always real

He'd coax a racket from any instrument

or sing like a banshee's cry

the spirit of our scene, he was

and he'll haunt us all until the day we die

I know he got his fill of cold beers

and some other guy's as well

He was quick with an I love you

or to tell a prick to go to hell

Racists could get fucked

he was fearless in their face

we were his tribe, his club, his family

hardcore, punk rock, artist was his race

The Preacher

He stands preaching

not to me

but to the room

I’m the only one in the room

a wheelchair serves as his cart

that holds all his possessions

including an old bible

that he’s now reading from

and I don’t have anything to offer him

other than an audience

but I have work to do

so now I’m on the outside patio

listening to the traffic

and he’s inside preaching

to the walls

and empty tables

I Was Afraid Of Indians

 I was afraid of Indians

I had a recurring dream

they were parading down my street

and the rule was

white people were not to look at them

they would pass by in the night

so long as we kept our gaze turned away

but I 

could not

resist

the colors, the beads, the flowers

the beautiful men and women

with dark skin, and long black hair

I'd carefully lift the curtains in my dark bedroom

I'd watch the parade

until one tall Indian man

suddenly turned his head

and looked directly into my eyes

I dropped the curtain

and hid beneath my bed

so afraid of what was coming

I'd wake up

in that same bed

next to that same window

scared and guilty

the street now empty and quiet

An abandoned and neglected Indian graveyard

by my house

was abused by kids from my neighborhood

I never participated

in kicking over

or otherwise vandalizing a grave stone

but I did climb the fence

and I walked on that ground

that I was not meant to walk on

the guilt of my actions

and the actions of the other white children

turned beautiful dreams

into terrifying nightmares