Let­ter to poets from stranger places

This one goes out to those
crazy rad­i­cals, and those lazy in bed
days off you decid­ed to bring your A game
after a night of Net­flix and that inex­pen­sive bot­tle of red

the way you write, the ink that bleeds
life on paper, the bet­ter parts and the
fleet­ing nanosec­onds we have in
detail­ing our way­ward thoughts

You have an oblig­a­tion
to take focus off of your­self
because your self pity par­ty­ing
is only beau­ti­ful to you, and you alone

we need to chan­nel the ennui
in a spin of light and weavers of those
pre­cious times we
lived for moments how we ought to

you are…
the rain droplets out­side my win­dow
on a day when win­ter secret­ly shift­ed
to a spring of much love­mak­ing

I watch as oth­er poets
are dis­cov­er­ing the rea­sons and the raisin d’etre
of their craft
poet­ry as prayers

or are our prayers our poet­ry ?
do they instill light and sanc­ti­fy the thought life ?
are they heav­i­ly guard­ed works of art that inspires
hid­den depths in us, and our secret long­ings ?

Yes and yes and yes, you sit­ting in the cathe­dral pews
frol­ick­ing in shad­ows and bask­ing in aure­ate ethe­re­al­ness
I see your con­found­ing word­play offer­ings
that places twist­ed grins on many faces

then there’s the name­less café drifter poet
who rap a tap tap’s on his/​her Mac­Book pro
over five dol­lar lattes and mak­ing the barista
stay an extra 10 min­utes past clos­ing hour

who was I then, but all and none of these ?
a poet who drank exces­sive­ly of decent wines
and wrote like a Kore­an dra­ma action star
from some­place very close, yet so far
so good


I want to escape
From this max­i­mum secu­ri­ty prison
Called escapism
And have my Andy Dufresne moment

I’ll escape the sis­ters, who prey
Upon the weak, and try to steal
Your very soul from under­neath you
And fight with gus­to the vile ones
In boil­er rooms

And when I’m on a hot roof
Dur­ing a mer­ci­less sum­mer day
Offer to make a tax shel­ter
For an evil guard

One might argue now, right­ly so
That escap­ing from escapism
is in truth, escap­ing from escape
The math doesn’t add up !

No, let me frame it in this way
I’m escap­ing from a being wrong­ful­ly con­vict­ed
Of crimes of pas­sion
And being pum­meled by the injus­tices of life
Because of the man I was des­tined to become

Not what cul­ture tells me who I ought to be
Or the har­row­ing traps of our great soci­ety’

When I get out of here, I’m tak­ing you with me
and then, we’ll final­ly leave this place
To find Annabel Lee’s King­dom by the Sea