Uncategorized

Riding Sixties Shotgun

I was in the shotgun seat
in 1960 Lansing Michigan
headed straight as a harddrive
through ghettoizing “Negra Section”
hunting down our commercial whitebread
heavenly ThriftMart,

Wanna be a WalMart
but not Southern enough,
somehow,
to withstand straight-male competition
in fluent White Privileged culture
favoring evangelical
monotheistic
monoculturing AnthroSupremacists

Kinda like
patriarchal-capitalist
anal-retentive pathological trauma
homophobic nature v panentheistic erotic spirit
kinda unenlightened Left unhealthy
and disempowered Right unsafe colonizing wealth
win/lose hoarding
apartheid community trauma dissociative
chronic supremacist anxiety disorders
degenerating unhealthy inside whites only classrooms
contrasting this all black and brown summer outside classroom
feeling shared healthier and safer hearts.

School would soon reopen.
We were on our way to buy
back to school
shirts and jeans,
and whitey tighties
and Elvis Presley-worthy
and 3rd grade new classmate
Arturo Hernandez
disturbing white T-shirts.

A warm August mid-western
urban day
for us white family farmers
traveling East
when a dark-skinned gorgeous boy
my same eight years of age
riding his bike
right out along a cracked
and broken
tree-lined sidewalk
with other kids around
playing hot hopscotch
near a sun-baked naked curb.

He looked over.

With my window down
I felt
and smelled
his shared fragrance
for a moment brown eye to blue
so improbably in love with
you
are who I was made for.

Maybe we could become
boyfriends
and then old-school married
naked together, sometime
someday
somewhere
by accident
discovering we both explore pleasure
favored with him brown-eyed beautiful above
and me under
blue-eyed wide ginger
passionate red-curly-headed
MeWe luscious
wrapped around his waist,
both wanting to give
and to conceive

As I can mostly missionary
dimly historically remember
sounds,
dim sight,
and fertile smell
when her egg
was open-whole systemically
fertilized by spraying Yangstrong
sperm informing
incoming
integral potentiating
seed
and feed
and breed
and bleed
and need
and divine peaking deed

He drove racing athletically
just to tie
our metallic bronze-skinned Ford
sedate, seats six, sedan
on his battered red bicycle
3-speed

His only helmet a handsome head
full fuzzy, yet glossy,
glistening in noon-day summer’s seismic sun,
crow-black
tight-curled
gracious gotta-touch it
play with
feel him

His warm wet scalp massaged,
his salty lips tasted,
his breath and nether sacred
dualdark parts
breathed in
absorbed
until my breath nearly stopped

Then he fell behind,
and was gone
until I met you

And there he was
this eight year old glamorous
brown-skinned boy
now grown
into his handsome thirties

Wanting me
to love him,
and only him,
to worship if I want,
as will he
in sacred
1/0 double-Taurus
1960’s HolySpirit co-passion
for playing only win/win peak hotness
co-governing robustly resonant
co-relations

Reparations
if you will
then so will I
GoldenRule give with you
what all StraightWhiteMale
patriarchal monotheists
would most fear
slatternly given away
in lust for men of color
in that unimageable
thighs spread needy open
way

LeftBrain dominantly win/lose
either/or zero-sum competitors
Left v Right polynomials
reweaving Left-with-Right bicamerals
polyculturing communion, not monoculturing competition,
creolizing, not colonizing,
cooperating, not hunting down
for a profitable military-industrial
LeftBrain dominant
ecopolitical kill

Not yet nightmarish anxious climate imagined
when I was eight years old
in our Ford’s shotgun seat
back in 1960 Lansing Michigan
headed unstraight white
male as a harddrive
through ghettoizing “Negra Section”
distracted by our up and outing
cold cash is sacred manna
ThriftMart.

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Uncategorized

ReFormed Hippy Communion

He recently moved into a double-wide
with working, some would say classless,
while others would argue for clueless,
white trailer non-trash.

He’s getting along
in this post-middle class
over hill
and ranting shrill retiring constitution
declaring interdependence
in this, Earth’s great
ReFormed Hippy GreenCommunion

Old mostly happy geezers
and gussies, yes,
most people of the park
not quite relentlessly white
and ambiguously green–not afraid of old and new colors
they have long known,
or guessed someone they knew
knew,
with decent Christian names
and local
non-postal reputations
for fishing
and walking
and breathing,
cooking
and baking
more like all the white folk do
than not.

Most of his neighbors
recall an antiHippy 1960s
youthful passioned past,
some red Vietnam militarized patriarchal
and some blue/green counter-cultural
activists all agree

Hippies got some sex things
too disconnectedly wrong,
but experimented more healthily
with green experiential ecology
of living simply
with cooperative non-violent sufficiency–
a potentially safer integrity
of wealthy health compassion systems,
organic and holistic.

And, yet, not just this sufficiency of EarthJust Truth
but also celebrating Her Sacred Blue/Green Global Beauty
rooted in religiously
re-membering
Come By Here, Lord,
still sung with white privilege
to steal your Culture, Girl
in soulful performance art,
Kum By Yah
served with vanilla GirlScout cookies,

Celebrative
meditative multicultural indigenous prayers
for Earth’s Great Green EnLightenment
as Ego’s transcendent polypathic
compassionate EmPowerment
of suffering souls
and solitude
and green/blue gratitude

Here
in his new but old trailer park,
revisiting
ReFormed Hippy GreenCommunions.

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