Jason G.

​BRD in DDD (CW: substance use)

All love for the screen locked
tabloid normalized
wandering mind youth,
absorbing snowcone crafting
in East Texas sticks,
suburbanite pothead socialism,
guarded late night cruise
through dope peddled downtown,
sweet sorrow smothering
of Mccarthyism holdouts,
Turner Diary spawn,
extremist expansionism
of Midwest Mongolian plains,
rabble days before terrible khanates.
​Pistolgripped dreams, needling nightmares.
​Benzo bad vibes
on pseudo empty streets
under Albuquerque amber lights
leading to Bissonet cornerstore death,
liquor store lackeys,
Tibetan prayers
before Geneva abominations
in small world, USA.
​Faded on oldhead blues
ringing in ears everywhere,
Rough Ryder acolytes locked in booths
muttering
turn me up some,
trapped by cells screaming
where's the dope,
burned out in bandos WNDRN
which way to our daily bread?
​Angel dipped blunt convos on folding chairs
tripping out with laced-coke Mac,
listening to around-the-way crime scenes.
​Come and help me
out of my mind wake up calls,
spent shells in leased purgatory,
held up by banks and collectors and peddlers
and sharks
calling each other focused,
in the land of time
trying to buy more,
but only if I can get it for Chinese plastic cheap.
​Fallout fantasizing ghouls from Megaton
after we blew it off the map,
they say soft-cock Ruski or hard-ass Yank
might do the same,
politicking jokes make the local news
vaguely listening to metaphor crippled coworkers
trying not to get through the day without a smile,
making a fraction of the sense for lead in gasoline
lead in schools
lead in water
lead in policing hands.
​Thank management for the lines,
bumped late nights and long days,
empty hand anxious
spare a square.
​Guess you gave it up.
​Cooling off on a summer day
new strap frozen.
​Swivel soothed
kept the shiver trips home.
​Still spiraling off handlebars
lifetimes after the fact,
strungout from shut up and take my money
afterschool waste away,
Whataburger parking lot ice
Holiday Inn ice
country highway motel ice,
when will you get away from it all
Niño temptation and bored breaking bad.
​Good on you not buying something
to fill time,
good on you
throwing lives away
to exist in a box,
sweet sinsemilla centuries
being a character,
stuck on stage goodfella effect.
​Actualize your identity for sixteen bucks,
verify your existence or drift away,
or trodden underfoot by space jam inc,
or overruled and undercut by godfather industry
stock champion
daytime politics
you were too busy to riot.

Jason G.

Jason is a Latino writer, poet, and community organizer based in Minneapolis. He focuses on studying and portraying the criminalization and societal institutionalization of marginalized peoples, specifically impoverished and BIPOC communities, with the goal of emphasizing unity in positivity to empower these communities. His current creative priorities are recording a socially focused podcast, performing spoken word, and publishing his poetry manuscript Latchkey Loverboy. Outside of creative pursuits he works on community organizing projects and events centering art.