"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
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)
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
i give him my throat of little importance emptied it of meaning the flesh of his fingers is language like whispered words of need and i am an arrangement of needs in the hands of an answer i give him my … Continue reading black flesh / black feeling
i avoid your embrace for fear of immolation but today decided to die to feel the flesh melt from my bones we are grown black boys in white socks dragging feet across carpet we hide prophet smiles because we know the same secret we know that when finger meets flesh we … Continue reading Beautiful Suicide
