Day 30 of 30 (the Toughest 30/30 Ever!)


a teaspoon dipped
in a well over time
will empty it of water
will tap the well floor

the sound that comes
depends on the
makeup of the well
and the
makeup of the spoon

a wooden spoon
tapping the floor
of a silver well
is a whispered thud

a silver spoon
tapping the floor
of a silver well
is a worriless chime

but what about
a silver spoon
tapping the floor
of a well made of stone?

well that is a peculiar
ugly sound
an echoing scrape
that is the siren of drought
and thirst

Day 29 of 30


the ones you shake your head at
the ones you cross the street for
the ones you edit out of the picture
every other day of the year
the ones whose neighborhoods
you greenscreen into either
a warzone or a paradise in your mind
the ones you’ve given forked tongues
for having slick mouths
the ones who order wings
from behind bullet-proof glass
the ones with secret handshakes
and heiroglyphic-stained skin
the ones who are loud all the time
who you still don’t hear
the ones you’ve given horns
the ones we’ve all given bricks
we’ve all given up on

let me ask you
when was the last time
you went to one of
the ones
and asked

baby, what’s the matter?
baby, what’s wrong?

Day 27 of 30

I know some of you are wondering why I keep writing these poems. Easy answer: because I have to.


In 1997 scientist Philippe Kahn
jury-rigged a camera to his phone
to for the first time
capture and share
through the internet
the birth of his daughter

She is now eighteen

Her life was the impetus
for the camera phone
Her birth was the dropped
pebble in the water
world of waves
rippling and rippling
wider through the years
until eventually reaching
the shaky hand of a
neighborhood newscaster
also eighteen
filming someone else’s death
or almost death
for the
third time
this week
to capture and share
with the internet
in case of another kind
of jury-rig

Day 26 of 30


all i want is to be able
to saw them in half
to sever them down the middle
separate legs from body
hands from holsters
thought from action
pull a fresh funeral bouquet
from one sleeve
a dove from the other
and a white cloth
long enough to circle the world
and soft enough to dab the tears
of us all
from around my neck

Day 25 of 30

RIOT (for Baltimore)

when a trash can
shatters a car window
in my neighborhood
when a brick
finds a new home in a
closed grocery store
when street signs
are exhumed like bodies
and used like battle axes
and used to bang the ground
to gong out to God
it hurts me
it hurts me more
that you don’t

let me ask you
did you not break
your own toys
during the times
you couldn’t cry away
the anger?

Day 24 of 30


Mama used to always say
Son keep your shoes pristine and tied
For even if the soles decay
At least you’ve walked with class and pride

Spit and scrub and buff ’em clean
The bottom stripped of thread and wood
Son be aware the road is mean
But you must make the walk look good