Least Read Poems About Inequality

Native flutes now blow
ever soft and low
warmed by a flame

rekindling sorrow
for every tomorrow
left without a name

that never arose
on this path we chose
filled with tears and shame

The non-signaler in traffic,
or every half-met greeting, a reservation
is set for them in the Pit. Fumbled
stroll charged by creosote aroma, over
the bridge a spiked heat. Uncontrollable,
tar, dough. Expanded wood, the jammed door,
loosely bundled sock and your shoe hanging
off the toe, blustering, declaring
sensational soon-to-split irri-ta-tion.

Some kitchens are pristine and ours
grind crumbs in the bulk while we
are darkly snuggled, an irrigation into beds,
underneath our feet and on the verge
of farmhouse...

the parrot delights  
even speeches even the rooster  
sharpens you out of sleep    
the beak parts and serrates    
    
the mouth clay and i must trust    
in high spirits all i see    
are ghosting the outlines    
the essence on walls    
   
i must see see must i    
it seems odd the invisible    
narrowed to a box above aural    
and the dark relied    
   
from the canal's drums are it    
them conquering aura has a grunt    
we are mime become anti wind    
that box we form...

Losing is an Art            
we begin to learn it from the start            
little bits of ourselves            
            
some we shed            
some we Choose to lose            
some are just taken            
             
like Innocence            
             
beliefs shattered            
griefs smattered            
Faith tattered          
           
a little at a time in the Beginning            
allows us to keep thinking we are winning            
             
That life...