Square One

Hangovers and Pancakes.

Trees and tall foreign birds.

I return
to capture past victories
only to realize the defeat
of me,

in me.

Brazilian babes shouting.
Robin
talking to me
about shoes,
or clothes….
I don’t remember…
because
it was was Robin fuckin’ Williams.

Best day of my fuckin’ life.

But.
I am here
now

Again.

Not my best day.
But a good day.
A damned
Good day.

Love
Lust
Life…
MEAT.

All fighting inside of me.

All
Losing.

But

I

Win,
when I submit.
to you.

slow storm coming

two doves
swingin’
under the roiling steel
now fly to shelter.


leaves
rattle
and hum,
as the wind squeezes
in close
& tight,
seeking to escape
the thunder.

i won’t feel at home
until She engulfs me
with Her chaos.

the sky is afire,
you should go home.

here,
there be devils and
angels and more,
gliding
through orgies of selfish delight.

you should go home
now,
there will be no peace
tonight.

dandelion supernova

wandering alone through
these memories,
i see that you were never
here.

and in
truth,
i really don’t care.

a shallow moon rises,
flooding this soul
with new magic.

faith rumbles
deep within,
lost
between twin
echoes of doubt
&
age.
lost,
but not forgotten.

a deep sun rises,
scorching this skin
with an ancient wisdom.

I am ready now.

ready
to surrender,
and
drown my pain
in
Destiny’s sweet embrace
and
burst forth triumphant,
ascendant,
and
decadent.

no.

you ain’t ready for this.

Fire & Silver

in the corners
of this shadowy
union,
souls dream and
linger,
seeking the old magic.

inside this simple alchemy burns
a truth
more profound than
life,
and love.

looking
into this mystery,
secrets deep within are
unlocked and
released,
and the demons come out
to play.

and we dance together,
we happy little devils,
we dance
beneath the bonfire
of my soul.

soul sistah, i wanna get wi’chya

soul sistah,
really,
i wanna get wi’chya.

and live a life existential and
sacred, and yet
scandalously ir-reverential.

let’s be grounded
in the metaphysical,
connected to our roots
with souls flung free.

let us make love
in the shadow of our Story,
and bask
in the afterglow of our glory.

let’s make babies,
young,
gifted,
and black.
let them know real love
by how my fingers caress your back.

I mean to getchya woman,
give you all of me
and make you mine.
but first
let us stroll a bit
and let our tale unwind.

fist and soul, where does the rage go?

with fist, foot,
steel, and word,
i want to break
you.

I will
break you.


i want you
to feel
the pain
that colors this skin,
to smell the fear
that curls these hairs.

this pain
which has come to define me,
every
damn
day.

another brother-
gone
another mother
mourns


another murderer
draped in a mantle of hate
and heiled by the confederacy
of dunces and bankrupt souls.


how do we stop the wheel
before we are crushed again?
how do we stop the pain
that twists up a young black face
with hopelessness and despair?


tell that young girl to remember
the songs of our mothers.
tell that little boy to remember
the dance of our fathers.

our story was not conceived in pain.

We can remember
how to be free.

we are all
beings of light-
sparks of awareness-
embers of greatness.

let our embers,
smothered for so long,
gather, and glow,
and
rage so fierce,
and so true.


i would be scared
if i
were you.

Wien

again and again
i return
to you
with your vaulted airs
borne of a past
haunted
by fancies and prestige,
and gilded
with horrors.

your
charming rounded corners
still cut

sharply
into my hollowed
depths.

i see aperol smiles
sharing

with that familiar
lilt

that still escapes me.


you are home,
away from
every other place I go.

don’t wait for me.
because I won’t-

yet we seem to meet
again
and again
on your broad
mourning streets