"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
we r a not of this world ppl n the absence of places 2 b / we hav mooovd ourselves 2 other planets / planted our colorless flags on invisible cratered space / & called dibs on a new moon on our moon we breathe free / & never worry of foot on neck / … Continue reading making space
once / when i was married which wuz an un x pected thing a whisper / a gossip thing / a much ado bout no thing / a love less attempt @ accept ting / i put on a pink tshirt my exwife laffed / real nerv us like / & axed y u wearin … Continue reading “princess n d pink”
all of his orgasms were made of blood he spoke of economies of ecstacy, preservation, and saving the world from doom with a sour mouth that feasted on the death of powers which he absorbed into himself and transmuted into pleasure tongue strokes from the mouth of a viper imputing venom translucent and sticky … Continue reading imperial desire
to protect myself against your coming again i grew a horn on my head moved to a mountain and trained my lungs to breathe thin air my horn has marked me evil man of myths molded into threat my body is made of broken glass i live poised on the edge of cliffs ready … Continue reading a(r)morous
i have always wanted to walk on air wear heels, high up lifted above life no dirt on the bottom feet renewed through fasting and giving up the ground I found something sublime in the lift something pure in the abstinence and always believed dirt is a complicated thing on heels i might avoid treading … Continue reading stilletto
she baked her love in a cake. i remember it in a dimly lit dining room with candles bright enough to burn me me down. i have two scars, one on each buttock. one from a lit firecracker my sibling stuffed into my back pocket, burning me down. he gave me the other with pliers … Continue reading the burnt pieces
i sat in my room alone, with the chatterbox blues talking the day away with my invisible friend mother, passing the door asked who you talking to? norman, mama ... just norman she knew of fat bearded white men in december beautiful bunnies in april witches, ghouls, and goblins in october and good intentions fixed … Continue reading (poem for norman)
