Cry, Brotha cry in that private retreat of alluvial heart. Where some turned diamonds, Some made the news, Some found chalk. Anger made a man of you. Butcher-knife to moods caged well for our benefit, Until the kettle whistles. Absent rhyme or reason, Your madness comes neat. Cry, Brotha cry You grab that filthy skin … Continue reading Cry, Brotha Cry
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.
FADE IN: INT. HONKY TONK MOTEL, BOILER ROOM - MIDNIGHT There is a fire that licks the bucket’s rim, There is a clunk in the copper pipes, There is a Frida forgotten in a river nameless, There is a con-man in my round yellow window, Swollen in my favorite chair, By the candle, he swells, … Continue reading Fucking & Punching
The women are commas, Apostrophes, question marks, Ellipses, exclamations, Brackets, bullets, Vowels, consonants, Virgins, widows, Bandages, electric eels, Spices, months of the year, Deja vu's, the Fibonacci sequence.
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
New York is something, taken with a broken heart,she whispers. Falsetto whistle in her gullet. Medals in tobacco teeth. Fingernails of lost boys etched on her face. The bruja woman owns a marble eye. We are rats, she swears. Fucking rats and gypsies, Dogshit sniffing dogshit. Hacks. Except you. No, not you. I smile. I … Continue reading Rats & Gypsies
When this art is good enough, When it is nearly sufferable, With a good house wine and a little more salt. Hunt down my missing teeth with the lamp, It must have been a good nigh