The Appeal and Threat of the Red Flag



angry, crazy mom, dad with gun, workaholic, insecure, alcoholic, immature, restless soul, numb, drug dealer, too young, too old, too serious, too clown, crazy ex girlfriend, lives with parents, no car, wandering eye, stagnant, lack of hygiene, liar, fixer upper, not interested.

There is a plane flying
straight over me. I am
his flight path.
I watch him in all
control –
engine in view of my
ears. He banks south
just after his shadow
obscures my sun.
And it is quiet again,
and suddenly warm rays
further bleach my
fuzzy thoughts.
who fears a dragon–
He who fears death.


There is a fire on the other side of the wall.
The most profound rusted rose
licking up flames for minutes
or days (depending on the day).
It is anger. It is plates smashed on the tile
red words flown over heads.                                                [FLAG]
The next day, the fire is gone.
A skinny man stands in its place,
head banging music
face quickly flickering over the wall,
but quiet.
I watch and churn.

There is no business in staring,
in absorbing the surrounding
of the days and days it takes to sort
through scattered thoughts.
Danger lies in meeting the eyes of another human
who stares back.                                                                   [FLAG]
Eyes linger long enough to know
I have no business in those eyes.

Long ago you decided you would be
only you
the only you that you are,
even at the expense of the world.
Even when in your heart you wish
you could be
another you.                                                                         [FLAG]
A you that does not inflict
such a self onto others –
“Accept me or reject me.
You’ll probably do the latter, in the end.”

A smile is only as good as lips can curl.
Mustaches can curl
upwards and out –
little signs of age,
cultivated and proved to the world.
Proved to me that you are
in fact
a man, a working, thinking, love-making
Something that must be proved.                                     [FLAG]
Hopefulness wavering between us,
little rivers with a million tributaries.
In that certainty of uncertainty,
I run.