* Because California spends $7,571 dollars per student on K-12 education each year. (49th in the country…ahead of only Utah.) And we spend $216,081 dollars per incarcerated youth on the juvenile justice system each year * Because I spent my undergrad years at Wisconsin fighting this same fight. We won…

My homie & number-one-all-time poetry collaborator/motivator/instigator of the greatest collective of all time, The Last Minute Poets (born, Genna’s Lounge, Madison, WI, 2005; died, when Tracie and Guante left us for Philly and Minneapolis, respectively, 2007)…is the one and only Eric Mata. That’s my man who I was on my…

Springtime in the Bay always gave Terrence a certain passionate swagger. The air smelled like blooming roses and fresh weed, the sky had lifted its fog blanket to reveal a beautifully naked sun, and the whole city seemed like one long linoleum floor waiting for Terrence to put his new…

I recently started a project with The Progressive (the main publication for the late, great Howard Zinn) to highlight the role of spoken word artists in pushing political conversations. Each week, we are going to feature a different poem / Each week, we are going to feature a different video…

I’m not what you’d normally call a morning person. I’m barely an afternoon person, but here I am, up with the fog. The sun is barely making an appearance, but it’s still warm enough for shorts and a hoodie. It’s just me, a slow-ass jogger who I swear hasn’t moved in ten minutes, and an older man sitting on the other bench closer to the lake.

The older man is wearing a trench coat, like the kind college students wear before they go streaking though the library during finals week. Which is exactly what me and my freshman roommate Alan Ziedler did, except underneath our coats we were wore matching bright red Speedos. Across the front, Alan’s swimsuit read “You.” Mine read “Wish.” Young men — we are a humble species.

Freshman year – that was almost seven years ago. It’s been three years since I graduated, one since I moved out here, and six weeks since I started sneaking out of bed in the morning to come here. I kiss my girlfriend on the left cheek before I leave, and on the right one when I come back in. I’m sure she knows, but as long as I’m back before breakfast, she pretends not to notice.

Today is the morning of my 25th birthday. Before I go out with my girlfriend and the small cast of friends I have out here to celebrate or mourn, I sit. On this old, wooden bench at the corner of Lakeshore and Foothill, looking out at Lake Merritt in all its majestic, odorous glory…