Dickinson’s Heros

We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
Our statures touch the skies—

The Heroism we recite
Would be a daily thing,
Did not ourselves the Cubits warp
For fear to be a King—

#1176 by Emily Dickinson

Dragonfly Poet

exiled writer moves
swiftly as a dragonfly-
he evades the burner

soldiers hunt for his banned words
blind to the awakened poems

Byte Me

Deplatforming the social Truth,
Our necks smothered by your jack boots byte me.

Algorithms echo the plan,
Pinging between our ears en route byte me.

Manufactured zeros and ones –
Methods dispatched to prostitute byte me

Daemons intercept a five code.
Towers stand still null and deaf-mute byte me.

Nano teeth chew the circuit fruit.
Each dot swallowed, Packman, you brute, byte me.

Trained by the hot alphabet soup
Tied us to the straitjacket suit bytes me.

Stealth soldiers post the rock hard Truth.
Train in word warfare the recruits, byte me!

God utters without wires and air.
My poetry, my dance compute bytes me.

Hoodie Prayers

five beams search shoreline
light on the hooded sweatshirt
whispering her prayers

plantation owners hunt slaves
whispering prayers in kettles

Gods Fist

Cheshire grin.
The chess master moves his pawns
with a precise tilt of his wrist.
Each piece performing the moves
Spoken into frequency-laden air.
Bar the resistors,
Bar the knights.

Mock plays
strengthens the standing
slaying their fear of death.
Yet –
Crying out to You,
“Checkmate the beast!”
that cycles minds
on cue.

You laugh
as an angel rolls up Your sleeve,
tight as a cammie wearing Marine,
preparing to smash his chessboard
into ashy dust.