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  • adunbar 42w

    For ST

    The cold finger tips
    of my past always push
    they push and poke and prod
    me in the small of the back
    their touch is frozen
    bound to soul to death to the memory
    of bottles and mayhem and fear
    and even after 10 years clean
    I push at it like how your tongue
    worries at a sore tooth...
    I push too hard, trust too little
    expect, fetishsize and seduce
    midnight until I recognize my actions to punish myself until I decide
    to just let the 5 year old me suffer, weep and rage and heal.
    I reach for positivity, cling to and adore people who love, smile and inspire me.
    Silje, you push back the darkness with your grin, silliness, laughter and power
    You help, all the time, every day
    So thank you, and that is why I write you. adunbar2021 (For ST)
    ©adunbar

  • adunbar 42w

    RIEL

    When I think of Louis Riel
    I don't think of the Duck Lake rebellion
    his sham of a trial
    or the Queen's rope used to lynch him.
    I don't think of him finally being declared
    a father of Confederation or founder of Manitoba.
    I think of his statue, south-west of the legislature
    Riel, standing alone facing south on the bank of the Assiniboine river.
    I used to stop and talk to him, keep him company, ask questions without the expectation of answers
    and I still look for answers through his life as it relates to mine and they elude me.
    Go see him, spend some time with him and you will understand part of what it means to be Metis.
    Riel looks pensive, sad and isolated
    away from the eyes of the domes golden boy, out of sight of those who still laugh at him.
    History corrected the record but its writers never forgave him and this too
    is what it means to be Metis.
    I sit with him in winter looking south and wonder was it worth it? Wondering what might have been, if they hadn't destroyed him.
    Sitting with Riel and the memories falling like snowflakes around our shoulders breaks my heart, makes me furious and walking up the frozen river, stopping out of my love for him, I cry until the tears freeze on my cheeks and then I turn for home. .
    ©adunbar

  • adunbar 44w

    404

    Flaw in the wet ware
    half ones and broken zeros
    leave neurons sparking like...
    like hot metal screaming under
    the capture of iron tongs and hammers.
    Endless amperage cycles kill
    everything it touches
    then the loop feeds back upon itself
    static in static out
    until the brain becomes
    a snake that eats itself.
    Can't make heads or tails
    of anything outside the loop
    boil old boards down to soup stock
    come and get it motherfucker
    long-rat shadows served after
    a head's pounded into a dinner bell.
    ©adunbar2021

  • adunbar 44w

    Piano Guitars and a Pistol

    I miss Mac Rebennack
    The Night Tripper
    The zuzu or the gris-gris man
    From the heart of the Crescent
    "Daily trippin up and down the bayou"
    after a card game went bad,
    some low rent sleazy gambler
    shot off Mac's finger and Mac?
    He just went from guitar to piano
    like nothing ever happened
    THAT was Dr. John,
    there for whatever you needed man,
    the music or the medicine.
    Walk on gilded splinters
    through streets smelling of mint and jasmine
    heat and impropriety
    all roads lead to the sun and moon and stars
    while somewhere in the back
    monsieur Toussaint is deep in the mix
    and the doctor?
    He just grinned through the smoke
    and spun some Dougie Kershaw
    the hardcore cajun fiddling God.
    R.I.P. Doc.
    ©adunbar

  • adunbar 46w

    Spieler in a Straw Boater

    Second hand candy striped jacket
    look close enough to see the bullet holes
    torn through the fabric that left the last owner both ventilated and vacant.
    The new spieler slipped right into it
    and hasn't fixed it yet
    he's got this higher calling
    when he dons the white straw boater hat
    raps a gavel on the rostrum
    always begins his routine like that.

    "Hey you! Yeah you, you young stud!
    Whyn't you and your lady walk down these stairs
    and worship at the Church of the Underground!!?
    It won't cost ya a cent but we got bookies in the back if you wanna place a bet
    on slippin through the eye of a needle
    play the over/under on angels and pins!
    There's no bible son, no cross, no Okie preacher fresh from a tent outside
    Lawrence fucking Kansas!
    This is the Church of the Underground all we want is your attention...hey,
    can you worship in the minor chords?
    The reason why I ask you that is,
    see, we gotta a guitarista who only grants salvation in runs of E (eternal) Flat
    Boy, you won't hear shuffle in C on our aural rosary
    and the call and response is to whoever you let it be.
    Church of the Underground, son, turning blood into Mogen David wine just a buck 99 and for the sacred price of that
    you can watch the holy roller go-go dancers in sequined thongs till closing time where you've cum and gone!
    GUARANTEED SALVATION SON!
    with a heaping side of fun
    mixed with the syncopated rhythm of the revelation, that's some power in your pocket and...
    You're not gonna get a better deal that boy, so step up and step in, the only thing you got to lose is feeling shame bout your sins!
    ©adunbar

  • adunbar 46w

    Word Prompt:

    Write a 6 word short tale on Abode

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    Sun baked memories
    Written in clay

  • adunbar 46w

    Word Prompt:

    Write a 10 word micro-tale on Mystery

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    Where did you go boy?
    "To the well to die"

  • adunbar 46w

    Word Prompt:

    Write a 8 word short write-up on Fulfilled

    Read More

    Pulled the hell
    From the mind fire
    Smiling

  • adunbar 46w

    Dry Drunk

    Whenever I start thinking to myself:
    "Hey, it'd be great to get back to drinking"
    and brothers, sister, friends, poets, writers and lovers,
    you have no idea how bad I want to go back to a life without fear of consequences
    the freedom of total disengagement from sanity
    the eager abrogation of morality
    and the comfort of the predictability of
    taverns, pubs, bars, and road house dives
    i remember my blood in an alley
    In Josephine County.
    I look at my knuckles broken so many times they look like walnuts and they hurt
    but lately, even that hasn't been enough
    to hold the thirst back.
    Worried, sick, scared to death
    I listened to JT by Steve Earle and to Townes after that
    those albums brought me back.
    I know it is late and past due,
    but Christ, Mr. Earle, I hurt for you
    and I thank and love you.

    ©adunbar

  • adunbar 47w

    Own It

    Almost everyone is choosing
    to dance around the issues
    of yesterday January 6th 2021
    Almost everyone is choosing
    to use language of obfuscation
    that is fit in parentheses
    that dissemble, distracts
    and refuses parrhesia: plain speech, unintimidated speech, frank speech

    So,

    1) It is obvious to the ignorant now that police treat white terrorists different from BLM peaceful protestors. This is systemic racism.

    2) If black people had stormed the Capitol building yesterday, they would have been gunned down without mercy and without question. This is systemic racism.

    3) No matter what MAGA terrorists do, there will be media, police and politicians willing to lay the blame on Antifa and BLM. This is systemic racism.

    4) The MAGA terrorists will not face a reckoning for sedition, terrorism, or tried as traitors. This is systemic racism.

    5) The media, blue ribbon commissions, sociologists, psychologists, think tanks and politicians will attempt to understand the motives of the MAGA terrorists, not for condemnation but to excuse their behaviour. This is systemic racism.

    Basically, at the end of the day, there will be no reckoning, no justice, no serious consequential condemnation because the terrorists were white.

    That is the definition of privilege and that is systemically racist.

    adunbar2021 (Own it)
    ©adunbar