This time, I will not put myself
through the paces of disappointment.
Here, the sky turns pink,
a rosy, sleepy lavender
and makes the red dirt seem
I think of you, and the dirt
beneath your feet, how it reaches
up to claim you.
You don’t have to be good.
You only have to come and walk
with me through the late day,
our shoes pushing the brown leaves aside,
our voices low in the gathering dusk.
from you we have come to expect only
the semi-languid espousement
of revolutionary psalms and
you are still hailed as the black messiah. Continue reading
(such as when I look at you),
I wish I could reach
a hand into my chest,
squeeze, and menace dearly:
“Be still my fucking heart.” Continue reading
your picture goes up on the wall.
your picture goes down on the wall.
(get your mind out of the gutter.) Continue reading
The first cool day of the season comes
in early September, and the single dim hour
before dawn sees me rise and ask
a simple task of my sleep-laden limbs:
let’s go running.
their mouths hold nothing
not even air: Continue reading
“do you look at your life?” i thought
everyone did – but do you
make eyes at your own history? where
are the moments that are stories within themselves?
rarely have we written ourselves down – and why?
even our triumphs are marred by mundanity.
still, it is an inimitable existence
and the time, however passed, is ours. Continue reading
I would rather not palaver
endlessly with this unscrupulous organ
who takes so much credit. I would rather
not be at war with the thing that gives me
power. I would rather not lay amidst
the licorice scent of sweet mace and think
only of blood.
retreating to bed to hide
from the world your deep
body ache, ensconce it
in a cocoon of down; Continue reading
make monkey, your
mostly confirmed astolat of
breaking chimneys with
wide sweeps of impromptu
corn dancing. stop. you’re not
all right. it’s only a clowder
if the contours are purring.
something like that you can’t
smell rapture when it’s
changing shape, making giggles
and undoing its belt.