I cannot, With the fingers of god, Endure the rich here gathered. The sweaty priest. The abiding misery of high-society weddings, I have graced the funeral of debtors with better spirit. I abandon the fragranced herd, And the mariachi in fake moustachios, And the honeyed vino, And the tight bulimic wives, And the bloodripe daughters, Prettier than my … Continue reading One Fine Galloway
The mastery, or third-eye, in this business of fiction writing evades me, both as a science and an art, and literally as one never published. I am in the factory line, distinguishing that there are a million writers now emerging from the woodwork and wallpapers. Some as mold, many as wallflowers. Perhaps, make that a … Continue reading Woodwork & Wallpapers
Ask why, Interrogate all, Ask of them, And of self, Keep this up, Until all your gathered substance, All the letters to your name, Become the ceaseless futile desire To not expire in uplifting Ignorance, Or worse still, Lost in the mastery of a single talent, Or the honey of a single lover, Perish as … Continue reading Ask Why
It occurs to me now that I am only black twice, A specialist will listen to my chest and Call out my dualism or bipolarity Or something just as godless.
And for this, At the end of another donkey day, My next fight with a blond mistress, Will transpire in the wee small hours of Tuesday, Her ignorance impenetrable, Of the things I have stuck up my business end And this will be profound satisfying.