Thank you : Beau Sia

barbara kruger

  Posted on September 29, 2014 at 10:29 pm

love for sale,

a book, a sacrifice, a parent’s way

of showing love

when a dollar means the suffering

of racists and assholes all day.


love for sale,

your work in my hands,

the seed of words planted in image,

so that the child may one day

walk their truth.


love for sale,

the reminder I wasn’t alone,

that the boys, all the boys,

and the girls, all the girls,

were all dancing to this song

I could not sing

no matter how hard I tried.


love for sale,

the portrait of a culture,

the captured moment of our slime,

the broken promise in contrast

to its beautiful advertising.


love for sale,

a book that reduced the patriarchy in me,

a series that left a bomb for capitalism later in life,

a story told that I couldn’t pretend away,

still and vibrant at once.


love for sale,

through every house I’ve lived in,

after every lover has gone home,

during all the times I doubted my fight,

inescapable in its craft.


love for sale,

watching me learn its depth,

fueling the words I’m celebrated for,

helping the boy stop holding onto

his store bought things.


love for sale,

each page your price paid,

each word your understanding afire,

each piece a place

I’ve faced in each mirror

in each room

in every corner

of the house built by man.


thank you fail

  Posted on September 29, 2014 at 1:54 am

would rather not post on sunday than write something just to make the deadline.

because of the context of the writing I am referring to.

a thank you poem.

I can’t just crank out a thank you poem for the sake of sunday.

I’ve got to honor the concept of thanks and allow the poem to be written tomorrow. After I’ve caught up on some sleep.

in the future, I will develop better energy management skills,

such that the thank you poem arrives according to a more steady timing.

so that it’s rhythm can build in my life.


  Posted on September 22, 2014 at 5:46 am

my paper jetpack
had run out of fuel.

I was a hustler living the surface
of an edgy fantasy,
pushing poems on patrons
in photocopied form five bucks
a piece.

your hard working hands saw soft hunger
and broke off half the loaf
into my metaphorical fingers.

your give gave me more rope for climbing.
your help had my stomach transforming for brain.
your eyes saw a stranger despairing
and calmed his raging lost.

I never mention how inspiring you are
in interviews. how your actions remind me
to unshackle what’s generous.
those nights in the bar,
your hand without judgment,

inspires more in me
when the young poet walks into today.

when the ask on the street is clear as song.

when the student is short on listeners.

thank you for your gift.
for living another example I turn to
when I imagine my pockets empty.

even if it’s 15 cents. even if it’s
30 minutes. even if it’s a
short lesson I learned the first time
I toured europe,
you helped me see how it’s not
all mine to hold.

that it grows who I am
to give it.

your example contributes
to the whole, thank you for always
showing love
and what it means to
actually do so.

thank you for the gentle smile
that helps open me to the rain.

I carry it forward,
I hum a simpler tune.

the thanks is not enough,
for tonight it’ll do.

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