Intolerance

Heart half-hung and feeling knocked
about and abandoned by the locked
lips and whispered words of shocked
belief at the audacity of my admonishment;

that tolerance is not a virtue.

You see, tolerance begs the subsumption
of ideas and beliefs and all the lower-
case-t's that we have embraced as
upper-case-T's to prevent the occasional
inescapable reality of offense. But...

this is a lower-case-truth.

Because the inherent inhumanity of relativism
is equaled by the inhumanity of any establishing
-ism that takes and breaks off and stakes out 
some who burn and stake the always outside 
other which is a mistaken claim of sake

-redness.

We make and forge sabers' whose rattles
take lives and words that would could break
these brittle false nationalistic bonds that 
we forged and create plows that could 
have fed the herds but whose those
now unheard words...


...are lost...

because the stock prices seen by corporate
boards could increase if only the greedy
hordes would be whores for the rampant
marketing wars that perpetuate the idea
that the color and origin of foreign borns
defined by our straight white-collard
evangelical lords are equal;

in every way...
but the one that really fucking matters.

Because equality is not a cultural norm 
or a truth discovered on our own foreign
shores but a way of existing without fear from
being seen as being anything outside of your
own ability, but equality of opportunity is a
dream when we exists in cultures and economic
conditions that define what and how and 
where are the limits

of our own fucking dreams.

That we view each other differently for skin 
color or the gender of our chosen lover or
the way we conform to the conventions of
culture and success as defined by the height
your portfolio grows to lift you into upscale
high rises and homes and we surmise that these 
prizes are both earned and divinely granted cons
-ignments because dollars aren't racist or sexist 
or phobic just tools used to repress those that 
we don't want to own them.

And that is why tolerance to me is such a
bullshit phrase because it asked we be tolerant
of the world's inhuman aims; it asks us to respect
as a difference of opinion discrimination, repression,
and dysfunctional acculturation in the name of not 
offending our friends and slave masters as Jim Crow 
laws continue to be daily made and enacted and all 
of us who are regularly impacted by these policies of 
breaking the broken huddled masses to grind down 
our communal bones with legal infractions while
ignoring the need for more progressive taxes
imprisoning those who heed any call for action
while waxing the morality or their immoral factions
who impose bastardized christian regulations,
ignoring the science that that should be forming 
the basis of our decisions by defunding the agents
charged to protect those in vulnerable places
and turning this nation we see as an oasis into
a desert mirage of wealthy masturbatory
actualization.

...or, simply, because oppression, injustice, 
and inhumanity are capital truths; and there 
is never -any- justification for their tolerance.

Bloody Someday

It was someday after Saturday
when we would rise and gather
with pressed dress
to make the drive to the mega
mall-church out in the dry hills
among the dilapidated dwellings
that spread out towards the east.

Someday; I would dream
doodling on benches and
pews as the droning cadence
swelled and fell with the
regular tempo of admonishing
and adorating devotion.

Somedays' signalled the
silent commandments of
sit; stand; sing; sit; stand; shake
sit; listen; stand; sing; leave
that narrated with metronomic
regularity the arch of my
sacrilegious boredom.

Someday, at 16, I drove
seperate and never arrived.
Playing hookie with god
became my first act of
creation; I began, reborn
on the day he rested and
I discovered the truth of
my greatest nagging fear:

in all the dark nights of
prayer and reading and
worship, the silence I
heard was not the
distance of my own
original sin echoing back,
but the freedom of
total nothingness
waiting
for me to hear its call.

Someday, I anwsered.
And ran away and towards
the nothingness that had
hid behind the wizards curtain
and ripping that strange and
foreign cloth, embroidered
with guilt and shame and
fear in the color of blood
and called true love and
turned it into a cape that
I wore and defiled and
desecrated with all the
pride that wearing a cape
in public, in school, at home,
brings.

Someday, the cloth may
fade and grow bare, as
will I.
Someday. But not today.