It is freedom…
Represents escape.
31 day bus pass
Inserted into hungry slots.
Unlimited rides
From the bus stop
To the terminal
Vice versa.
Expiration date:
September 22
Printed in jet black
On reverse side.
Wallet has to be open
With $56 to pay for another
Before midnight hits
On that date.
Feels like I got a golden ticket
Or own the magic stick
To make life surreal.
Slide in my slip of freedom paper
And go anywhere…
Child.
Sit in the front seat
Never the back
Because I wanna see
My unexpected future
Come towards me
While I come towards it…
Collision of dreams
And what is meant to be.
Don’t want my lips to
Engage in conversation
With the other riders
Because my mind will be daydreaming
About tomorrow.
Sun exposes the gift of
Radiation on my cheek.
Sounds and words
Smells and sights
In the surroundings of
Public transportation
Give birth to the day’s soundtrack
Of Trane…
I hum to his poetry
Deciphered from his oxygen
That creates musical reassurance
That I don’t have to worry about
Nothing.
Just sit back
And enjoy the bus ride
Through a crisp turquoise sky.
I be writing my song.
I be doing me.
I be thinking of handsome
Black men.
I be thinking of the
Prospective man
Wherever he shall be
And his romantic and sexual
Prerogatives and how mine
Will add pizzazz.
Ha… Jazz does that to you…
Child.
Riding the bus
Imagining myself being
A messenger on street corners
Slinging fresh strawberries
Packaged with wisdom…
Proof that we as humans
Still envision good things.
Surrounded by stories
That I ain’t never heard of…
Child.
Reading faces
Studying individual mannerisms
I constantly do
On whoever enters and exits
The urban trolley.
Understand why God
Or Allah
Or any deities in the dry aqua
Texted me to be a multifaceted artist.
The stories are out there
For me to submerge into
Regurgitate to the creative souls
Who hunger and thirst for the
Abstract metaphorical knowledge
Known to fill inner gas tanks
At the pump at no cost
Because seeking truth from anywhere
Is free.
No deficits
Always surpluses.
Surpluses keep me writing
Keep me singing
Keep my feet dancing
On God’s green hair
Toes sliding through his/her
Healthy brown dandruff.
Keep me standing on
Imaginary stilts for what’s right…
Keep me away
From reality
To prevent
Impulsive snaps to realize
That I’m riding the bus
With two sons of bitches
Staring and questioning
My male-to-male
Sexuality sign
Glazed with rainbow filling
Around my neck
Amongst themselves.
Self incarcerated in my idealism
And fanatical dreams
Causing orgasms to occur
Through the frontal lobe
Reproducing new sperm
Of my creativity.
Back from my bohemia
I pull the cord
To request my stop.
Back to dreams
When my foot pounces the sidewalk.
Mellow ain’t just a word
Mellow is life…
Child.
Think mellow.
Catwalk mellow.
Work mellow.
Create mellow
And after so much mellowing
It’s presented through art.
I do it all over again
Child
Because riding buses
Is like independence day
Everyday.
Getting the chance
To capture mellow.
Feeding it to you
And be satisfied
Simple as a piece of bread
With a petite cut of fish
From Jesus’ hands.
Can’t wait to ride the bus again
To witness deep collision.