"To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all the time." – James A. Baldwin
i must be a mighty powerful thing like a man's legs crossed or a moustached woman or like desire when it mounts you and rides you into the sunset like hunger pain all bunched up between your legs must be something like the sight of yourself in the morning in the mirror that makes you … Continue reading a mighty powerful thing
every thing that happened to me was some kind of magic when they laid me in the grave minutes past being born walked away from me like moses and sent me down the river life to die touched my body in ways ain't supposed to be and beat me with their own regret raised welts … Continue reading Necromancy (Or Raising the Dead)
I woke up in the middle of magic rocked in the cradle of a sixth sense covered in snake skin a pattern of diamonds on my back I woke up in ritual in new awareness of a beyond now a freedom to do any thing (any black) thing my body got hot for I … Continue reading The Magic Man
I sit inside your ribcage Shackled to your spine Feasting on remnants of heart prisoner of abandoned body This hollow home echoes Faint sankofa whisper I am in love with memories Whose fermented sweetness Render me occasionally unconscious When the last scrap is gone I will tear flesh from my body To paper the inside … Continue reading Skeletal
always make sure your first move is your best move it tells all your business and what you desire you can change your mind a thousand times later but still be vulnerable 'cause now they know what you want and you can't take it back you know ... when i kissed him he stood … Continue reading low-jizz-sticks
they took to the streets with their faces carved like clay pumpkins mad because the eclipse had come shadow season when all the light turned into puddles of melted ice a black man clad in rusted audacity stood in the sacred place on a soapbox made of multi-colored fear that looked like … Continue reading will the women bleed too?
granddaddy was different. lived alone in north carolina. gradmama lived up north. the mason-dixon drew a line between them when mouths to feed made a difference and love was the work. above and below, divided union men in the kitchen played checkers, drank whiskey, waited for sweet potato pie. granddaddy tied a towel around his waist, … Continue reading Between Old Men
