Two Poems by Brandon Beacon Hill

Lying Upside Ginsberg’s Grave

America,
why are you hated so much?

America,
why do you spread
freedom
wealth
liberty
and the pursuit of happiness
to all nations on this earth
except for your own.

America,
I am exhausted by your measures.
Your typical tactics,
redundant red tape
disasters.

America,
when will you start lying to me.
I am so fed up with the truth.
Lie to me, it makes me feel better.

America,
when will you wake up with love in your heart?

America,
stand up and take responsibility for your actions.
Stop pointing the finger at someone else.

America,
when will you realize that politicians are nothing
but lobbyists for major corporations who own:
your country
your road
your car
your workplace
your home
your kitchen sink
your chop sticks
your socks
your dog bowl.

Their interest
is to pretend
that your interest
is in their best interest
which only
gains them
interest
fattens
their stomachs
their wallets
their portfolios
their bank accounts
their second home in Tahiti
their mistresses DD
tabloid humor
gossip column check out nightmare
donate to breast cancer
instantaneously
while you throw your life savings away.

America,
when will you grow up and stop acting like children?

I am so sick of
the whining, crying, complaining.
I can hardly hear myself think
let alone feel the contour of my own face.

America,
why don’t you change your name?
Your symbolism has lost it’s meaning.

It started to shift somewhere.

Was it the first day of spring in ‘74?
Or the 22nd day of November 1963?

I can’t remember.

I wasn’t
a thought
a rumor
or a product of Jack Daniels yet.

America,
8 dollars an hour May 9th 2010.
Enough to buy you
a cup of coffee,
high processed food,
feed the meter
get cancer with the change
don’t say hello
or thank you
or have a nice day.
Your green is good.
Your green is GOD.
As long as we can scan it
into the machine
that works half the time,
tells us it’s legit
hard working person
on the other side of the counter.
We speak the language
if that language is green.
If it passes machine standards
we don’t give a fuck
where it comes from
or how it got there
just give it to us
and step aside

to let
the
other
asshole in.

©2012.Brandon Beacon Hill.All Rights Reserved.

Lamarr’s Got a Sickness

Lamarr’s got a sickness for thickness.

It don’t
matter
if it’s
black or blue,
brown
mixed Asian persuasion.
It’s flabbergasting
petite spinner
Westside Thick Alice.
They’re
all looking
to get
high
off his pipe.

If it’s
thick it sticks
and
if your round
he’s down.
He’s always
looking
for more
to get up on
from behind.

Lamarr’s got a sickness for thickness.

A
handsome
mixed-man.
A
third black
or
African American.
A
third white
or
Caucasian.
O,
part Eskimo
I don’t know
what the proper
nomenclature
is for those
who live in igloos.
They are just bad-ass mother fuckers
with Whale teeth and shit,
wearing fur coats and stuff.
Driving Isuzu Troopers.

He’s from
the largest state
in the states
and
no
it’s not
Texas
red neck central
it’s
Palin’s Alaska
Tuesday
nights
on Fox.

He’s Vegan.
Eats
french fries
doused in honey.
A man who keeps clean,
high and tight.
Bearded,
top of the ear down
around 6 feet at a buck sixty.

He’s always sending me
ok cupid files
of his latest honeys.
His hottest picks.
His daily
quiver’s
so thick
files pile up
overloading my inbox.

Lamarr’s got a sickness for thickness.

From
time
to
time
He’d
be
gettin in between
a couple
thick layers.
Like
a
finely
sliced
piece of meat.
Like proscuttio.

Lamarr’s got a sickenss for thickness.

Hanging around
talking about
his
daily picks
with
that look on his face.
You know the look.
The look that say’s,
“Damn, where you been all my life Double D G naughty mixed Miami?”
Or that look that says,
“Hell ya, you 5 star total package in town visiting from Kentucky.”
“Aw, hell ya I’d hit that!”
“Hell ya, that shit is tite!”
“Damn…that shit is tite!”
And by tite he doesn’t mean tight.
He means
loose and bouncy
like the girls
you see
shaking the streets
like a 6.9
on the richter
struggling to keep
there shit
in there pants
cause it’s falling all over this world.

Lamarr’s got a sickness for thickness.

I once
saw him
chasing after this one in Alhambra.
He called her Church girl.
She’s super sweet.
Super cute.
And thick.
He kept chasin
And chasin
church girl down the street
clothes hanging off his body like a coat hanger so thin.
He looked like a tootpick
trying to get stuck into a strawberry.

Lamarr’s got a sickness for thickness.

One day she stopped by.
He’d get on it.
She’d get wet.
He’d try to hit it.
She’d get nervous.
Out the door.
Bible in hand.

This
went on
for years.

Two,
too many years.
The more he chased
the thinner.
The more she was being chased
the thicker.

She just kept
getting thicker
and thicker.
Growing
in
and
out
of
church.

The more she
prayed
the thicker she got.

And the thicker
she got
the sicker
he was
for her thickness.

©2012.Brandon Beacon Hill.All Rights Reserved.

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