boxora's pan / bizarre (czar) shit /...
we kiss and color bliss outside the lines / scholar blind. we trace sun and bow the rain until sky dances a prismatic trance. we hope / black isotope in heart this kaleidoscope of skin, lips apart / we collide / twin isosceles. this is what happens when black love becomes anti-coumadin - this collusion of caress: a high platelet count. a thickening. a quickening. a beautiful thrombosis. climb...
Untitled in progress All this yolk is yours, the universe in my head with its sun on a string, this voyeur bright and visible and feeding on your voice; our hips hinged / And me your second shadow; wow - all this radiance: my yolk, the white, and all the shells. Yours.
6 ODUS FOR THIS NEW ERA
1. regular morning yawn - i long to play the role of ‘monstrosity’ its the missing link between propaganda and the modern poet… we useta whet our tongues for the well-written pathogen for the droplets of sweat cleft from osmosis but sadly, there is no terminal abomination in my future… the poet is dead / long live “The Dead Poet ©” 2. electronic yawn...
persona non grata
(It hurts for us, Reflecting back upon the harm Done to black folk’s humanity) Lázaro Ros emerges From internet radio, has Afrekete all in his voice And we cringe In the discomforting skins Of our own non-customs; Invoked into anger & shame, By 4 centuries of embarrassment, We turn down the volume (We all lie to ourselves, but Only when there’s been genocide do The lies linger between...