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
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
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.
I nod to the comrade in his ghastly green jacket, That wily New Yorker nod, He gets this respect Tight fish-eyes and all, But would not, for god, nod back, Not to a lesser man. Perhaps because finished souls have teeth sunken in an ending fraternity And this need not be broadcast In pulpits and … Continue reading Misery by Inches
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
A method to her madness, Echoes trapped in doorways, That stench. Never surprised by dead neighbors, They beat me to it. Much is gifted in a death bed. Two small barbiturates did her in, She, the lush purple wig above a laundry basket, Whose gluteus maximus killed good sense, Is no more. If I be … Continue reading The Lady Went Out With a Bang