in response to Crystal or “a hobosexual dirge”

these bags of unwashed clothing
having been sentenced to living in your memory 
as a space aged fool
weigh more than meteors & iron ore

been the court jester in your air mattress kingdom
we struggled together
you worked me into less than a man
to make your giving up more palatable to strangers

can’t afford new arrangement but misery finds company
and though she was witling my members into used coffee grounds
the passion doesn’t shelter & side chicks giggle at homewrecking

sounds like personal problems
feels like disillusion and half truths
I did more than cheat and hobo my way into closet spaces 

but let you tell it
I was never anything but lying & begging
wasn’t up babysitting other men’s offspring
and never once gave you anything but treachery 

last Christmas I made you breakfast pancakes
unwrapped your inner workings and kissed your mistletoe
you moaned your way around my jingle bells
promised the things I was unwrapping
belonged only to me
we laid in the afterglow like tinsel
on the plastic evergreen
we had assembled together 

and drank the cocoa of our shared vigor
over the roaring fire of enthusiasm that wouldn’t
last till the Wolf Moon took everything we promised

admit to authoring this manuscript
all the undoing was my fault
but I was lured into this disillusion
by some harlot who wanted
some other woman’s eyes and used her envy as a lure
for a captive who thought more of craving
than survival
and willingly threw away everything

for the custard and the wine
was frustrated and denied
was pushed away and disrespected
was full of excuses

why I was justified
in everything I wanted in the moment
until I was left here
on the curb waiting for Tyrone’s arrival
to help me take away my things
and start over
as poem I didn’t get to edit
sifting through the rubble
as I lie about what happened
in a car I didn’t own or drive… 

breaking

she treats me like a pet monkey
gives enough of her palm to devour the Mazuri 
& the back of her hand when I won’t be obedient

there is nothing like alone 
crumbled flakes of miserable aches 
the grinding of teeth into rumble
double dutch with livewires

hurting me is a carnival game
my feelings are mine to protect 
but she knows how to play me like a cello
opening my heart like a shoe box 
taking everything and with it my sanity

I give up
won’t die in her wishes any longer
won’t fix my day, wallet, or longing to suit her whims
this timex has been unwound and I won’t keep time
for someone so intent on leaving me to rust 

finding the path

along a slim road the signs
are hard to decipher from a distance
there is a path to something better
but the steering wheel plays like a slide piano
you swerve, veer toward the shoulder,
in a consistent course correction

how to do the right thing
at the right time to remain safe

there are detours and construction zones
stop signs and the railroad crossing
looms heavy with danger
if you are ever stopped on the tracks
get out your car immediately
the locomotives don’t have time to break

every driver hasn’t been to driver’s education
don’t know the laws in traffic
while others drive reckless
hoping they don’t survive

the moving violations, y turns,
and high speed passing
make the traffic perilous
at each turn you are faced
with a decision
either accelerate or brake
go faster or slow to a complete stop

there are seldom any State Patrolmen
monitoring the highway
even when it’s a dirt road
and no one stops at stalled vehicles
or try to help anyone not inside their car
you will get where you are going
even if you don’t want to be there
once you arrive.

“I just thought of a funny joke”

You better laugh
get in all the giggles you can
there will be mourning
much mourning
and sadness

You should guffaw
as often as you can

If fat people falling makes you titter
then put Crisco on your sidewalk
and get out a lawn chair

crack jokes
when no one else is listening
double over laughing
at how clever you are

be entertained
be jovial
be loving & charitable & friendly
be forgiving & grateful
but whatever you do…do it with a smile.

The devil hates your smiling
evil intends you to be miserable
before dying
we are all dying
either now or later
we are leaving here
isn’t it hilarious how much time
we spend trying to pretend we aren’t…

I don’t like her, anymore…

there are far too many freckles
on her back for me to love her
when she sits in front of me in class
her hair always smells far too sweet

she doesn’t know my name
but her chin is too long so it doesn’t matter
and her butts too big,
her lips too succulent,
and she is far too hilariously funny

dudes don’t want funny chicks
boys egos can’t stand the competition

she thinks she is better than me
I think she is better at math than me
and I don’t like it

I dont like her.
I keep writing her name
on the inside of my Trapper Keeper
out of habit
did more push ups
then Chris at the bus stop
she pretended not to care
but good
I don’t like her anyway
sometimes I pray
just once
she would notice
how much I don’t like her.

Broken Elevators

the confectionary syrup of a snake’s tongue
makes the swallowing of fables easier
told the fold in her stockings
the candles were burning to hide the scents
tricked my common sense
and out came the pallbearers & eulogies
when gentle love dresses in malnutrition
starving beyond hope for reprisal
the horns of devil’s advocate scream for your attention

Maybe she doesn’t love me
what if it was all a lie

the romance of inventing suitors
she turns from Madonna to Backpages
in a flash light
searching for reason
hoping for vengeance over heartbreak
letting go seems civilized
but the fidgeting and second guessing is normal

You will know it is LOVE
if when you let it go
it returns to you
just be sure it is what you actually wanted
not just familiar falsehoods
eaiser to swallow because the bitter pills
of anguish never could be so sweet.

“black wishes matter…”

passed a wishing well
considered diving in
filling my pockets with water & wishes

was thirsty, hung over,
in desperate need of sustenance
just a smidgen of glistening magic

the twinkle of the nickels & dimes
sparkled among the evidence of lesser wishes
even in wishing wells
the brown ones get less attention

decided against jumping in the water
too many eyes
besides
the drenching wet negro isn’t hard to catch
on a fall afternoon
being inconspicuous is important
when doing the devils work
unless you work for the state…

“brush strokes”

even lines on blank canvas
she works her imagination
into masterpieces
I am enamored
with her even handed
slow motion

painting creation
her fine lines
circles & incongruous right angles
explosions of black girl magic
like a break beat and trumpet
mixed pastels and cheap vodka

we mix colors with cuddling & goodnight kisses

the champagne tastes like sin
but if God meant the sun to hug the sky
then he assuredly intended
that she dance reckless
in her birthday clothes
against my wanting glances

pray to be her next piece
or at least be pigments
on her easel
in my next life

an existential crisis of faith
in everything I know
everything I know questions these efforts
but you never really get the picture
till the artist is finished…

“fair warnings”

the rivers full of snakes, they said
would be advised to stay out the water.
God protects
babies and fools
so often I already know the out come.

Out come the devil
to defeat and destroy
you niggaz
I’m gonna tell
you niggaz
Prison sells
you niggaz
would be better to murder
than to put him in the hands of the enemy

the inner me
has a better plan
demand God
intervene, intercede and enter me
change my perspective
give me wisdom & discernment
because God knows the system
hates you smarty art niggaz
speech proper, upright, strong
like Dr.Huey,
Like Fred from Chicago,
like A. Philip Randolph in Harlem supporting Garvey

hardly see anyone together
till funeral processions
or Saturday Night
sweat, liquor, and unprotected sex
you niggaz
kill me and you kill yourselves
never noticing
we are the same niggaz

you niggaz vs us niggaz
leaves us all inferior
but they warned me
about the snakes in the water
but let me warn you
they are on your timeline too…

the bum’s rush

their stares are
satchels full of daggers
that puncture flesh

a life
less ambition
more addiction
will suffer you indignity

you will lose
more than your smile
youth seldom is forgiving
having never known shame
the pains of false promises
mistakes that aren’t washed away with apology

the suffering you sleep under
at night
at the shelter
isn’t enough
karma wants more blood
pity the man
left to strong drink & his own devices
suffering his way homeless
disheveled and stinky
sticky and wild
last night was an endurance of hell fire
the begging wasn’t a trick
laying there alone
dying
isn’t a punishment
it is the product of our apathetic failures
at being God
shame on us
for losing even one of his children
to the fire
of his own devices
pity our judgement now
less when we are judged
by the thing that created us
the same wretched, we smile.