Retrospect (Sometimes Hurts More Than the Present)
sent my love pulse back into irregular-the Next Sentence
.and the period began my breakdown.
The breaking long overdue like cracked windshields feeling the pressure of potholes unseen.
Splitting glass shattered
Into a mosaic I couldn’t yet see,
separating your explanation of why we really can’t be
Semi-Releasing me
From the
Drip feed of
crybaby love poems in iambic meter.
Because I forgot
the quality of mercy is not strain’d
we were never meant.
Our bees fluttered in a twisted pattern and our
Flights tangled.
caught in the residue of our first meeting,
I forgot all appointments are inked in by God. I tried to take control of the wheel and
was jolted,
jilted
and too soon you were gone
before I realized that while sweet, honey is sticky.
and my wings still flap to break free from its dead body,
so they can fly again.
For the Restless …(and the truth seekers)
There’s no place for
propriety here-
No place for
Bitten tongues
bloodied and swollen from
Pulling back unfiltered words
No scratched esophagi
Bruised and beaten like punching bags
Throbbing from damming tears
Because it’s bullshit
If it’s not loving who we are without makeup.
If it’s not letting our guts hang.
Don’t write to me if it’s not
Babies screaming for milk-filled tits
Like black fists
With
4 clenched fingers
leaving the fifth to spread its wisdom
I need verses that don’t hide.
Don’t hide
tales
of
black whores
selling their treasure for the
devil’s
white medicine.
Don’t cover your eyes,
There
is
no revolution-
Don’t worry about it
being televised.
Give me poetry that tastes like remorseful twilight dipped in lust.
Don’t sugar coat your cookies
Or dunk your donuts in stoicism
To glaze me.
I’d rather have “dagger poems”
To part your blonde hair
Give me poetry
That knows my black daughter’s
strife isn’t self-inflicted.
Poetry that knows
Nigger is just a word
Isn’t just a word
Is just our word
Not yours anymore
Call me my real name without forgetting who I am.
Let my words come alive because they have to.
Take the air I’m giving you.
-November ‘08
Dream to Sleep
When I close my eyes
I see nights.
Shining in armor
Lit by Jupiter moons.
Coming to save Me from my days.
But I’m too stubborn to ride.
-June ‘09
Untitled
I remember when (your) promises were staples
Not unicorns
And one-eyed monsters.
Magic carpet rides were never free
Ignorance
Was my down-payment
And monthly installments
Emptied out my senses
Like a vacuum
Your crossword language sucked me dry.
I’m happy for the midnight bell-
I’d rather sing and dance with the mice
dreaming of my prince charming.
You can keep the slipper.
-June ‘09
For Men (boys)
“let the flashes come when they meet someone special.”
-Lucille Clifton, “For Sons”
I wish him childbirth.
I wish him emotional attachment from sex.
I wish him one week early
On a first date
In a white skirt.
I wish him one week late and ignored phone calls
I wish him empathy.
I wish him unable to say no because he loves me
Not because he’s easy,
But be called easy anyway.
I wish him trust.
and futile patience
I wish him well.
-June ‘09
Laundry Day
Took a left turn instead of a right;
astray,
off the unbeaten path
I found myself on the one most traveled.
My carnal appetite gorges itself on you
leaving just scraps for the rest of me.
Laundry piles circle my bed
telltale morning sunshine
drips with
residue from shameless nights.
My blues and your whites
Layer up
To make sandwiches of your desire
And my love’s leftovers.
And I wait to wash you underwear,
So I can own your scent-
But I realize nothing lasts…
And I can’t even keep your smell
As it slowly lifts off your clothes
drifting out the window to follow you
And be with you again
Leaving behind just a pile of dirty clothes
To be separated.
Rinse Cycle
I put the water on hot this time
to burn out the
sex stains
Really just
love pains
Dried into sheets in cracks shaped like church window panes
But there’s no pulpit here
No altar call
No benediction
No remedy for this addiction
To rid me of this predilection
For men like
You
Just stains that
seep into my sheets
Creep into my dreams
Crawl deep into my psyche
To spite me
Shower water will have to take the place of the holy kind to chase away all physical traces but there’s no erasing you from my head
The open Bible by the bed reminds me
Isaiah 43
That even though I walk through Fire
The flame will not consume me
But you
Con
sume
me
And Im again weak
And even though I close my eyes
I cant sneak
Cant hide from God
It’s open pages offer wisdom like sages
Only
I’m too far gone-
Drunk
off this thing you call
“love” and I call “not enough”
and you tell me you love me and I believe it
I
hold onto your words
like
word processors without spell check to check for bullshit
and your lies
and before I have time to think
I
click print, turn my paper in
Only to get it returned marked with red ink
Errors I was shielded from seeing
Too stuck on being
Your
Everything…
And as the rinse cycle switches to spin
I begin
To dial your number
Only to hear the voicemail lady tell me again
Where I know ive already reached…
A man who’s so far from truth, his language is a lie
And somehow I still love you—
But, spin’s done, time for dry.
Repentance
I’m nauseous.
Like mothers with child.
Expecting Un expectantly
expelling mournings of sickness
with no cure
but birth.
And I’m Ready to take my index to triggers
and throw up mistakes unmade.
So I can respire
The in-flight video tells me to fasten my seat belt,
But
I’m not so sure that will save us.
Yes, blessed be this.
-July ’09
