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If you find someone
to frame that turd
you made on the pillowcase
consider yourself lucky
cause we live in a society
that puts blood red hearts
on the chopping block
puts real good art
on a pedestal
Today's clamjuice rises like an
old friend, morning, noon, evening,
and night, progress takes on a
promise and a pretense.
Winding staircases of publicity
and pens demonstrate their love
for all to steal, pretty girls
+ financiers, bending down to
glimpse the indefiniteness of
your flimsy follicles.
Children with cradles stolen,
the pink and white flesh of roam,
the silence of music, too many
dreams devalued and ugly words
swallowed, a daydream in sand.
Still the rhythm pushes me to
assimilation but my bones creak
with your pitter patter on wooden
floors, your starry determination
opens a direct door and we are
in a library of musing.
we were all born
unknowing of facts
of what is what
and which is which
and who is who
knowing only what is right
what is free
what is love
and as we age
we pretend we have always known
what we have learned
and look down on those whose paths
stop short of ours
or go askew
or leap ahead
and as we age
we forget the truth
that was born with breath
that speaks without words
and rules without logic.
Omar says, "I live in Chicago with my family where I work as a computer programmer. My aim with poetry is to liberate words from the shackles of intentional meaning and reclaim the beauty of phrases and spontaneous revelation. I also write songs and sing them."