Series of short poems:

Strange Events

It must have been on weed
Ginsberg, all of it.
Bush’s war on Iraq
quite quack.
You left out some pieces
Feces for it all.
In fact, strange
I hope, you learn.



What do I do now?

Dream on my brotha.
Lean on...


The Judger

Who are we to judge?
Who are we to tell wrong do?
And you. And you are who?
Who am I not to tell
you too. Because, I am.


Evelyn

I remember things when I’m like this.
I stare off and off and off
and off.
It’s about nothing.
something it can not be.
But I do remember her.