dear oreo,

i know i just picked the world up and then i dropped it on yo fuckin head, oreo, but
in light of recent facebook drama, and i don’t fuckin do drama, i just do me, i thought i should extend a weed stem of peace towards america’s favorite cookie and offer my services, which are priceless but probably valued around a milli a milli a milli a milli.

let’s start with the facts.
1. weezy is the greatest rapper ALIVE. ain’t no one gonna dispute that shit, ya dig? there ain’t nothin i ain’t doin, puttin out mixtapes, makin videos, keepin shit poppin even while i was behind BARS. nothin can stop weezy except WEEZY, and yall know that.
2. oreos are fuckin delicious. fuck newman o’s, fuck hydrox, fuck all those frontin ass bitches. oreo is the one and motherfuckin ONLY sandwich cookie worth fuckin with.
3. don’t matter how much time you give your facebook fans, status likes don’t lie. weezy baby got the greatest fans ALIVE.

while the drought may be over here at cash money, i know everyone ain’t got what we got. so oreo, how can we get you all caked up like betty crocker’s boy? what do we need to do to get oreo back in every house besides legalize green? respect the carter and listen up.
1. new flavors: we all know black and white oreo is a motherfuckin classic. but the last big thing yall threw out there was half and half flavored creame, are you fuckin kidding me? you gotta roll up on some new markets ya dig? promethazine sizzurp creme in between two cookies imprinted with weezy f baby’s face. that shit would sell out faster than my muhfuckin records, feel me? Better yet, i wanna see some sprinkles on my grills on them cookies. can’t be doin it at all unless you doin it big. you finna be sold out of this shit in less time than it took me to beat your guinness record (AAAAAAAW SHIT jus playin jus playin).
2. put out some free shit! we all know weezy didn’t become the greatest rapper ALIVE by just trying to sell records. you gotta give your fans somethin to get hyped about, ya dig? you know i be all over that bread like i’m sesame seeds, but even weezy gives a little back to the fans. not one, not two, not three, but motherfuckin SIX droughts for FREE. i could have put that shit on cds, sold that shit, and made a fuckin guap, son, but i won’t play my fans like that. i owe everything to the fans, and you gotta get on that tip. yall gotta start droppin oreo mix tapes on em. i’m talkin boxes of all sorts of fuckin cookies, straight downloaded from the internet. i know yall can do that shit, my albums be getting leaked straight off the computer all the time, why cant yo cookies?
3. collaborate! everyone knows nicki minaj is the fuckin greatest female wayne ALIVE, but yall know her best shit is on other people’s tracks. but cookies can’t collaborate, right? WRONG. i got everyone on my tracks, and i get on everyone track. you gotta do you oreo, but you gotta do it with everyone else, ya dig? throw some free oreos in those lunchable things, stick a package of oreos on another fuckin package and do some fifty percent free shit. Better yet, make that shit fuckin convenient as HELL and start droppin boxes of oreos wherever you go, the bus stop, outside your office building, out your helicopter on to the street on the way to work. weezy reaches the fans not just through facebook, not just through the internet, but through they motherfuckin PHONES. oreo you gotta get on that shit.
4. stay on ya game. i’m a beast, i’m a pitbull. you know wayne don’t sleep. i’m tryin to milk the game as if the game was a cow, and you gotta do that shit too. twenty four hours a day creatin, twenty four hours a day just throwin shit out there. don’t write it down, don’t think about it, don’t say oh this is offensive or oh how much money is that gonna cost DON’T LET THAT SHIT IN YOUR FUCKIN MIND. get ya nina and blow all them doubts the fuck away cause you gotta DO YOU and GO HARD.

you all know lil wayne loves me some oreos. fanned your page the day i got a facebook, fuckin for real right now.

and if you triflin motherfuckers don’t want this help i’m throwin at you, yall better watch your fuckin backs. got the semi-cartermatic rollin up to oreo headquarters with the nina ready to throw down, ya dig? weezy OUT.

Communion Sundays
remind me of my father
who when I was a child
stood in front of this congregation
and pledged himself to the Lord,
who walked the steps
of the baptismal font
and was submerged
in the cold yet refreshing waters
of faith.

Communion Sundays
remind me of the half light
of the church’s kitchen
where I would stand beside my father
and watch him prepare communion,
showing me how full to fill
the small plastic cups
so that they would not spill
and stain
the congregation’s sleeves

Communion Sundays
remind me of the necklace
my father handed me one warm
summery morning
as I left for a week
on my own.
He smiled and hugged me
and told me that he loved me
and sent me on my way
telling me to be brave.
I will wear that
burnished cross on my wedding day

Communion Sundays
remind me of the prayer
played at my father’s funeral.
The last time I would
hear my father’s voice
and the first time
I would see my mother cry.
He spoke of crosses and shouldering burdens
and asked God for strength,
but thanked him all the same.

Communion Sundays
remind me to be thankful
for each and every day,
remind me not to question
when I have lost my way,
remind to have faith
when picking up my cross,
and remind me of my father
that many years ago now
I lost.

1.) Yes, I am excited to graduate college.
2.) English Literature and Anthropology.
3.) No, I don’t have any plans after I graduate.
4.) No, I don’t want to go to grad school.
5.) Or law school.
6.) No, I don’t have a job lined up; but if you have one in mind I’ll take it.
7.) No, I haven’t really started looking for a job either.
8.) I guess I did kind of waste the last 4 ½ years, if you call becoming educated a waste.
9.) If I were to do it over again, no I wouldn’t have picked different majors.
10.) I have no idea what my professional prospects are like, but judging from the current economic climate, not good.
11.) No, I can’t keep my two current jobs once I graduate because they’re student jobs.
12.) The idea of getting married seems about as far-fetched to me as walking on the Moon; possible, but not likely.
13.) Kids? Are you kidding?
14.) No, I’m not worried about my future.
15.) Why? Because I haven’t really thought about it.

How many times it went
to and fro, the big boat.
It could not leave the harbor.
The sea beyond would rip them up.
So to and fro the harbor.
And up came the sun
though you could see well,
and the Asiatic trees.
My my, god in heaven
climbing a staircase
could get nowhere near.
We drank and sang
and made verses.
Many times I cried
though I could not say what for.
It simply was,
the women were made of silk.
And laying down, head full of water,
all you could hear was the sea.
A head that clear
all the animals in the forest
simply slept through the misting nightfall.
And Oh Deer, why so sleek and pretty,
evade many a beast, and there are many.
They grow sly and hungry
as I age, here, in this harbor,
only my tea as warmth, spirit,
the rain always persisting.

The money truck delivers the money to the money.
From there, an important man admires you, woman.
Then a deal is made.
The money truck drives on the freeway.
It is slow. But money is fast. We go faster
until slowing down. Then big Chinese men
who are actually little, they come
so there is a great level of importance
and the grain is made cheaply
so the cows can remain frugal.
That makes for a huge refrigerator.
A man conceals bacon in his suit
which is unethical, but the bacon goes bad
waiting in his pocket. The eggs then seem so spare.
But then another man sends some crucial numbers over telephone
and the embassies feature huge continental breakfasts,
all the men drink mimosas, until a boy arrives
full of tears, holding an ice cream cone.
There is a surplus of butter.
The men receive it with bread in bag lunches.
Their cigars are easily lit by the power of the sun.
One man exclaims “My wife is pregnant!”
There is a war going on,
though a good helicopter can assuage any misgiving,
such as, a man must wear very good shoes.
Confidence projects boldly from the forehead.

We are in the forest’s coliseum. Some corner of our newly discovered secret path; known to more than we would ever think. And we are ants among the pines.

We are at the forest’s edge of the world. And my heart is beating faster because we’ve stopped. And the sun shining through the trees is of the same element as the wind blowing through your hair. It’s all so real.

We are in the forest’s life expectancy. And it’s that time of year now, when the hot air battles the frozen ground for dominance. The snow is slowly melting. We could almost watch it, but we only want to savor this moment. So we leave the snow in its place.

We are in the forest’s unshakeable emotional core. Every single thought, idea and purpose of my being is interrupted by your presence. You are simply staring at me. I cannot decide whether to laugh or cry.

We are in the heart of the forest. The ambience, set exquisitely by well-worn birds and the cool fall breeze, is making it hard for me to think about forgetting this moment. We wouldn’t ever have something like this here ever again.

And we would try.

And really, it was our first.

And we walk out of the forest, hand in hand.

And you stop to pick up a piece of garbage that must be thrown away.

And I understand why you do these things, but I really must insist that we meet again soon.

i love you like i love banana bread
fresh out of the oven
with two pads of butter
banana bread–holy shit!
–oh god.

the sun burns brightly
you are a candle
the wax is dripping
oh god

cupcakes on a sunday morning
your jelly doughnut forehead
and frosting on your lips
oh god

so i guess i’ll look you in the eyes and say “surprise?”

and my attitude towards the world like the song i wrote
is fine now.
it is fixed.
it is lovely.
and so is the woman i’d love to marry.
she loves to change her hair and she has tattoos and i will never really figure her out completely

and i hate all of these things,

but it won’t matter.

Destruction reigned supreme on earth. Fiery corpses dotted the ground, selecting and sparing few from death. Massive debris rained down. Trees and grasslands were ablaze. Life was about to become microscopic.
Two were left. But they were again focused on performing an impromptu play.

Act 3. Scene 1.
The world was about to end…
“I quite think that I should fancy you, Arthur.”
“Indeed, we certainly share many fascinations, albeit the recent surge in volc— ”
“Can we say it is love, dear?”
…

“Okaayy. You’re stepping all over my lines now,” Arthur interrupted. “I mean, the love is the hope in this apocalyptic nightmare. First, though, I have to establish the overall despair we are experiencing. Without that, we lose the heart and soul a this thing.” His giant neck swooping down closer, he muttered, “ Can’t you see how beautiful this all is?”
She twisted her plated body quizzically, “Sorry, but did—apocalyptic nightmare? Despair?” Her heavy panting started to quake the soil beneath her.
“Art. Don’t you see? If we must die in reality, surely we can live on indefinitely through theatre,” reasoned Arthur, cockily.
“Tell me, Arthur, who’s going to see your ‘masterpiece?’”
“Shut up, I have the title. ‘Dual-platonic-souls-grasping-with-the-idea-of-certain-cessation,” he said while forming an upright fist.
“Cessation?”
“Alliteration. It means death.”
“Concise.”

The two wandered the coniferous forest, putting their current project on hold while in search of shelter. They slowly accepted their ultimate fate as rock plummeted to the earth around them.

“As long as we’re on the subject of death,” she pondered, “how do you think we’re going to the grave, Arthur?”
“Probably volcanoes. Uh, disease. Climate change. No wait—asteroids colliding with us. Yeah…” he smiled, not seriously considering the idea. “Just theories.”
Amused at the idea of “climate change,” the pair came across another survivor. With an earthy authoritative vision, his speech reached them profoundly.
“No one knows whether death, which people fear to be the greatest evil, may not be the greatest good,” the newcomer croaked. He was lean, it was apparent that his words reflected his hard-earned experience. Coarse wrinkles ran deep throughout his naked body.
“Plato, right?” Arthur asked.
“That’s right. We’re all about to change for the better. I believe our collective will slowly develop into the ‘greatest good.’ Many changes acting upon changes.”
Sarcastically, Arthur responded, “When we fly.”
Without any verbal welcome, she gravitated towards this philosopher, Charles. His words put her in a hypnotic trance, and so assumed truth immediately. Arthur, threatened by the man’s presence, could not think of anymore smart-ass remarks. He trotted away looking for water.
In Arthur’s absence, Charles expanded upon his wisdom. He shared his ideas regarding the cruelty of nature. His solution for coping with the end of the world was to physically multiply himself many many times. This way, he thought, he could be immortal. At least, in some regards.
In an instant, he would try once more as he fell in love with his own words. And her.
“Get the fuck off me,” she asserted.

She caught up with Arthur, choosing not to share what just took place.
“Get sick of the old timer?”
“Yeah…Yeah…Hey, why don’t we finish our drama?”
Arthur’s eyes flashed with excitement, reflecting another volcanic eruption in the distance.

Act 3. Scene 4.
The lovers prepare for the cruel fate that nature presents.
“I want to believe that we can outlast these tumultuous events.”
“We can’t, Arthur. I think we may have to accept the time we’ve had.”
“But Love. Isn’t that everlasting?”
…

Name burst out, “No. Stop. Seriously? I have to die in reality while acting out this garbage? All right, you’re no Bill Shakespeare. But you couldn’t even propose a story without a theme involving star-crossed lovers fated for death? You didn’t even change your name.”
“I…”
“If you wanted to say you loved me, why can’t you just tell me without a script?”
“I love you.”

A falling asteroid the size of Vermont killed the two dinosaurs.

whenever he drove cross-country
he bought a scratch-off
from each gas station
he filled up at.
he never scratched them,
just crammed them in his glove-box
that no longer shut
(it was so full)
and drove to the next state.

he drove through cornfields and small towns
and lava fields: landscapes washing by without ever solidifying.
he flipped to the next page in his worn-out atlas
pretended he had a dog named charlie in the passenger seat
to talk to.

he didn’t have much.
just his beater car
and three years worth of lottery tickets.

they made him feel good,
like he was stockpiling luck
like this way
it would never run out.