Hit the pavement with aggression. This race toward heaven got bluesy stories and risky gambles. Break open the machine on a Sunday morning. Allow intentions to sidestep traditions and polluted creeds. D.C. politics still rage. A Chicago mayor ain’t got time for toddlers that soil Oval offices, cosplaying for the cameras, deflecting short attention spans.Continue reading “Sundays in the Machine”
Category Archives: mailbox weekly
Today’s Thoughts on Empire
No open palms in this crooked land. Only clenched fists and iron-like ideas can survive in this social wilderness. I dig into this militant bag. Fela Kuti runs down anticolonial chants to awaken morning.A fresh brew wafts into spacious rooms–Kenyan blend. Huey P’s voice crawls into earbuds, like a follower of a congregation. D.C. experiences empowered mediocrity. The Oval Office got plans to take overContinue reading “Today’s Thoughts on Empire”
Live with the Risks
Sparrows chirp; traffic gentlyroars; a cul-de-sac sleeps, breathes, slowly prepares for the day. Geese block the street, forcing a black pickup truck to stop for superior creatures with jazz-like steps, natural connections to the land, man-made water sources. They grind, hustle. Loud machines do not bother. Towering trees stand, like neighborhood pillars. I-64 chants aContinue reading “Live with the Risks”
Jazz Hangs on a Saturday
Avoiding noise,like vibes consumeskin. Constantly. Fixing flats onpolluted earth,patching up holes onliberated wings.Snatch up purpose andmemorize thecracks in culture. Jazz hangson flesh. JohnColtrane. Dexter Gordon. Mr. TheloniousMonk taps keys, altering moods. Rick laughs at an episode of Malcolm and Eddie, while Ryan unfolds a box of Kane’s fried chicken, hoping to uproot mystique, justify the snake-like backups onContinue reading “Jazz Hangs on a Saturday”
More Human Each Day
Cocoa scented skin wafts for moments–an epic simile–like my man Reggie, twirling a piece of raw chocolate from a Haitian cocoa tree. The years fly by. We grind. Buildto act, to protect,to love, to resist, to live, to leap overburdens, like we have surfed these metallic waves before. Liberated. Cageless. Roses forcing their ways throughContinue reading “More Human Each Day”
Poem Written After Watching an Episode of Goliath
California license plate on a yellow bug. “Baby, I got your money,” she says, misremembering the codename. “The name is Fernando Vasquez,” he says. A lawyer with a bloody nose and a poor disposition slides out of the trunk of a red 2018 Jeep Compass. Nothing to see here. Dead metaphors and dysfunction. More bullshitContinue reading “Poem Written After Watching an Episode of Goliath”
In June, A Little Boy Simmers
Tradition for What?
Too fast to wear a crown.Uneasy. Heavy is the head. STILL. Raised on a different frequency,moving skillfully with sharks, like Miles Davis swimming in sound. SOUND is a temple. The gamble crawls on skin, and I change lanes. Stuck in this blues, living with designed purpose. God’swill on flesh. Them levels be dangerous. Bones tellContinue reading “Tradition for What?”
Said the Monk to His Earbuds
Beats by Dre hurl gritty street anthems. Nipsey Hussle. Jim Jones. Jeezy. K-Dot. Motivation is a strange addiction. Speed and altitude are objectives, pushing farther into concrete oblivion, keeping the circuit board CLEAN, like the only way to live is by BOLD declarations and aggressionand pain and suffering and more PAIN. Climb them hillstill lungsContinue reading “Said the Monk to His Earbuds”
Long Way Home
City streets snake and swerve toward ordinary oblivion. Not worried about the hate and the hostile stares. Or the pissed off old man in a dark pickup truck, trying to make a quick exit on Butts Station Road. Red faced and angry. I laugh. This is an ode to balancing life on an eyelash. ToContinue reading “Long Way Home”
The Official Website of Synnika A. Lofton 