"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
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
he fingered her lace, widening the holes, little to no regard that they would never shrink to their original size. it was skin, delicate and servile, ornamental in his eyes. in the end, her porous body was broken, shattered, like silver fragments of mirror reflections of fading brightness, shining even in decline. she held … Continue reading the soiling
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 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
