Born Into a Carnival of Souls

Here are a few words I’ve seen scrawled in the alleys of San Francisco’s
Mission District:

We can’t know what we won’t comprehend.

We can’t stop the damage we won’t believe we cause.

These are the crazies, the dregs of the earth, the losers, and every other demeaning and dismissive word used to dismiss the powerless who suffer
the worst of the GOP’s abuses of power.

These people can’t afford to vote their conscience because they’re dying from the lousy choices of people who can.

I saw this scrawled on a wall in late 2016: Why do u want 2 Kill me?

That’s a damned good question.

A mind that ain’t inquisitive really doesn’t got
shit to live for if you can’t explore the
realms of thought you ought not test lest
you be chomped up, like a pop rock, stopped for a
bead from the weed lady, thought it was the bomb
Really wasn’t nuttin but a bag of strong palms

A human ain’t a human if he doesn’t make mistakes
And the name of this song is Swan Lake

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Soul Searching

from Poet Rummager

Poet Rummager

WQGR0456
Illustration by Poet Rummager

I’ve hung the missing posters –

stapled them to light poles.

Only the wind answers back

in haughty undertones.

Fool, it huffs, as it slaps my face,

Humanity is a runaway.

No use looking.

No one cares.

In this desolate terrain,

you’ll be soul searching in vain.

United States ranks 50 out of 55 developed countries in healthcare efficiency, life expectancy, and healthcare spending per capita (Bloomberg). Our senators and congressmen are covered under government health plans for life, yet they quibble about offering the sickest and poorest children the right to the same quality of care. Where are these people’s souls? I certainly can’t find them.

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Quicksand or Time

kneel into

self

as thick as

quicksand

or time

as short as

life

the mind goes

fritz!

and still soft

words

are the fashion

is the suck-off

are the

dreams

of

more me

of me

on the street

stretching

absorbed

into

niches

where the

envious

self

fails, extending

contempt

to the

“worthless”

to the

owner

of a sleeping

bag whose

mind has

snapped —

onto mine.

 

(c) Rob Goldstein 2014-2017

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A Flight of Ideas: Strange Days

I wanted 15 seconds of fame but Judy took us to a record store.

David and Louise came along and David was really something with his
face crawling.

The clerk kept staring at Louise so David buttoned his shirt.

I bought an old Doors album, handed the clerk a hundred and watched him
slowly count out the change.

I said thank you and stood by the door as polite as can be.

David was everywhere, breathing hard and sweating and his face all-crawling.

Then he opened his shirt in front of the clerk and smeared Louise all over his belly.

Judy says she’s never gonna bring David out again but she always says that
and she always does.

I wondered if this was Judy’s life with me as the central character but I have to keep such questions to myself.

I can go home when I am more facile with this process.

Image and Text (c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights reserved.