MH Clay

I’m a drone
I’m here to fuck the queen
And die
I defy my insect destiny
I will not drone
I will chrysalize
I will complete the change
From worm to butterfly

Behind my myriad eye
My soul is that of a butterfly
But, you can’t see me
You’re caught up with the challenge
Of so many mirrors
In which to admire yourself
You can never see beyond yourself

You’re the drone
Not I
You can fuck the queen and die
Not I

(By the way, the queen told me
You have a little honeybee dick
And you always come too soon)

My people are something special
I identify with my people
My people get me
I am somebody with my people

My people is how I cope with insecurity
You may be something, but not to my people
My people keep me once removed
I’m insulated by my people
My people is how I put you in your place
You may have clout, but not with my people

My people will work it out with your people
Superior by far are my people
My mentioning your people is just my concession
I am being polite
But I mean to have my way
My people ensure that I will
I am guaranteed success by my people

I don’t have to take risks
I don’t have to be vulnerable
I don’t have to look at you
I don’t have to let you look at me
I don’t have to stand on my own merit
I don’t have to think about acceptance without merit
I don’t have to
My people love me

And you are not my people

Pale blue leisure suit
White dress white shoes
Polyester beige and brown houndstooth
Platform shoes
The preacher’s suit
Is jet black
To best offset his diamond pinky-ring
An accusing eye
Which exposes our envy and our greed

We will go forth at altar call
Our weekly repentance
From our lives of dissipation and excess
Our idle amusements bible study talk and talk
Eat cake drink milk talk more
We’re overcome and Spirit filled
The secret language God’s converse
From our sinner’s lips is spilled
“see my tie”
The sisters praise
Loud Hallelujahs with arms upraised
“a ree bo bo”
We stammer so
Little babes with clumsy tongues
We stutter and we hum

All the elders raise their hands
To thank their dogma and their god
Their replication of generations
Of stand up sit down
Jericho marchin’ the chapel round
To trap our evil lusty demons
‘Til the walls crumble
In our jabberin’ jumble of noise

Who can stand
As He did stand?
Why, none of us can
But it’s OK now, how can we be?
Tall as strong as divine as He?
Not one
No matter
Just speak and bleat
And keep up the patter
To be exempt

Even donkeys, dumb asses
With braying mouths
Have uttered sounds which qualified
As God talkin’ to Himself

“see my tie
A repo bo
A repo see my tie”

Oh, my

– MH Clay © 2008

Our sunshine turns the air orange
We wheeze and grin
And take it all in
We’re fighting over apples
In the produce section
We’re roasting
Beneath the sun’s convection
We’re melting on concrete
Wish you were here

We’re scrambling for sustenance
Bony, brain dead children
Are eating dust
And shitting blood
Our ground is saturated
By the floods
We’re surrounded by decrepitude
And rust
Wish you were here

We’re pushing through it
Bringing joy and angst to it
Yes, it sucks
But we make the ducks
Which trim the tops of our Mohawks
We’re strong together
We’ve learned to absorb the shocks
Wish you were here

We’re wondering about the reckoning
The penalty for heeding the beckoning
Seeing the wonder
Consuming the plunder
We’re pondering the question
“How?” and “Why?”
And submitting our suggestion
Couldn’t it be different?
Couldn’t there be change?
Would that be too dissident
Too alien and strange?
We’d like to talk it over
A path to walk it over
Wish you were here

We feel the pain, we hear it
The children giving up the spirit
The humiliation, the shame
The crying of shattered souls
The passing of fathers
The filling of holes
The struggle to make sense
Of the silence and perceived indifference
We need to bear that
Someone to share that
Wish you were here