Enter: You with baptismals and living mothers, For whom the bells toll, At whom the crickets of the veldt titter, Even that swollen savage, fat in the Saharan sun, Even my father and his useless red-clay gods, Even the preacher on evening walks, Casting out a million cankerworms. Enter: Those never somethings, Those never nothings. … Continue reading Fleurs du Mal
Boy, ask not what it be to be a man, Black, Here comes the white casket, an excellent fiction. Here comes the bastard in the story, The ballad man they called, Mr. Black F. Masculine, Seize a stool, boy, B. F. Masculine, will daze you.
I care now for silly echoes, I assume the worst of my best shows, And of eggs that don't hatch, And goldfish that move too fast. What you’d think if I do what I have long promised in hymns and haikus. If your death will be any better than mine. Let us settle this now. … Continue reading Son of Ham
I seldom know the lines for the widow, You see, I am a poet, I see death every night, I die a little, others die in conclusion, And the sun comes up at half past four. Sometimes, I go for the jugular and squeeze, Other times, the war is extraordinary, Heaven opens a window, I … Continue reading Lines for the Widow
Damp curtains come under attack, Doors and windows volley free, Enter the tempest, enter the shadows. The clavicle hurts right before it rains, A bed of twisted wings, A halo now silver quick, Between the pillows and wounded sheets. Hair strand on toilet seat, Stray cats have moved in, Enter the madness, And the thick … Continue reading Unstirred
Nobody would know that back home, In chest-high elephant grass prairies, In places where the earth was forever red and bald, We were worse so, Little, roaming nothings.
Hungry for the reward of private tears, I cannot be further damaged, Trust me, I tried. My wrinkled soul would not fit an open wrist. We are all not equally deserving of that quiet, easy death.
They float like most, They wear it well, That fine gloom, Mornings, It catches the subway lights, It is inexpedient, For truly, there are not many things to laugh at now. There are those, in spite of life, Who smile for reasons unknown, Laugh, though needless, Giggle on contact, Ask of your sciatica, your pickled … Continue reading Life is an Orgy & Window Pie
On a street of red doors, I am a red one. See what you will, Try that you try. I will always be both ends Of a solitary shooting star. One fine end will slice thru god’s sides. The other will betray The trimmings of a lifelong lie, That I was all right in the … Continue reading Little Red Doors