I was buried beneath the mound, It sits in a small space between The willows and dreams. As...

I was buried beneath the mound,
It sits in a small space between
The willows and dreams.
As a child I tasted love here,
Climbing atop to force the
Attention of a pretty girl.

As young adults I won her heart
Through a series of courtship rituals.
She would lecture me for my
Bad memory, but adored my wit.
She was lavished in a Godly glow
That lit a path for me to follow.

After college, we were married
And lived near the mound that
Held our dreams suspended in
Laughter and memories.

On her birthday we visited the mound
To swing from the willows-
I can still hear her laughter,
And the last words she said
Right before she lost her grip.

She fell to her death, breaking her neck
In the very spot she once planted
Pumpkin seeds as a girl.

As my time neared me to peace
I recalled her very last words,
“Meet me at the mound when God calls�
I am here now,
We love again...
I remembered.

She’s at home all alone The one I hit raw for five years, She would always say Me cheating...

She’s at home all alone
The one I hit raw for five years,
She would always say
Me cheating was her fear.

What’s the purpose of living
If I can not control myself?
So I stayed true to my girl
And the old ways I left.

On the road most of my days
Legit and making ends meat,
At night I pray for our souls
While she’s home asleep.

And for three days I returned-
To home cooked meals and kisses,
And sitting about in my chair
While she does the dishes.

After three days of bliss
Out again, missing her so…
She texts me pictures of our kids
God Bless her soul.

For the first time I trust
Another creation in flesh
I swear never to let her down
As I come home refreshed.

And it’s funny how we change,
Oh how life has it’s Turns
Weaving distractions into gold
Only to melt when it’s burned.

It was the usual routine
I’m home and she cooks my dinner,
Gives me a beer with a kiss
Assured that I am no sinner.

So at night as I loved her
As I have been for so long,
I noticed something different
And it felt so damn wrong.

At first I thought she was hurt
Inside where she carried my kids.
Something out of place
Not cancer God forbid.

And with a concerned finger
My soul became vexed,
As I went in with love
To come out a used latex.

If one could imagine the anger
Or the rage it denotes,
Please pray for my soul
For cutting her throat.

So as I lay on this table
Please understand,
I am not a beast,
But a loving man.

I will miss my children,
My family and friends.
And as eyes pierce through the window
I repent for my sins.

So as my heart stops
Do not be alarmed-
Perhaps I’ll be set free
By the needle in my arm.

So you didn’t like my poem about Seeing you dead- Rather than seeing you happy? I never...

So you didn’t like my poem about
Seeing you dead-
Rather than seeing you happy?

I never knew you had time to read my blog,
After all, you found love in the most
Unlikely of places...

My Nephew’s funeral.

That young grave digging apprentice
Had mighty big arms.
Well maybe bliss will
Flush your face
As I dig the veins
From His Guns
Wrapping Them Around Your Neck
AND STRANGLE
THE BETRAYAL
FROM YOUR FUCKING ASS!

Loyalty was all that I asked,
And you had to cut me down
Like a hung slave that looked
Too hard at a white woman,
Burying me like the 911
Conspiracy.

Now I cover you with every
Imaginatively evil word
I can possibly conjure
To form the biggest dick ever
And stick it right up your asshole.

You say it was love at first sight
BUT I SEE RED,

And it’s human crayola
To color the expensive sheets
On that king sized bed
That I bought you...
The very one you now fuck him in.

I hope you continue to anonymously
View my blog as I slander
You into oblivion.

Only venting wont stop my eyes
From bleeding out
These sour patch tears...
How cliché is that?

She sat on the hood of a parked car All dolled up in her sexiest attire. Timid docile doormat Reeks...

She sat on the hood of a parked car
All dolled up in her sexiest attire.
Timid docile doormat
Reeks of scorn abilities.
Maybe she never knew her
Daddy, or maybe a serpent
Whispered lies.

Suffering from Attached Disease-
You know the clingy types
~I'll die without you~
Hiding car keys
While licking razorblades.

She enjoyed watching her men pee.
To her, a symbolization
Of siamese souls...
Separation is vile.
So she comes hard
To cover memories
For a second-
Peaceful.

She knows real life,
But love for the moment
Was the great escape.

Our pain mixed well-
Berry blue and lemonade
With the right amount of sugar,
On the rocks.

We leaked a bit of realism together,
Not often though, time creates knots
And restricts blood flow.

Our understanding was agreed physically,
And our hearts were not compatible.
She was honest pain, I was lying bliss-
We asked no questions.

Belonging to desires of every flesh Weaving dreams of your attention Into a perfect mesh Not...

Belonging to desires of every flesh
Weaving dreams of your attention
Into a perfect mesh

Not once did you look my way
As my gaze of amazement
Set my pride affray

Temptation leans on my spine
Leaving me the burden
Of idle time

And a mind of pure catastrophic
Self indulged fantasies
As my profit

I give way to every glimpse
As I sit amidst a dream
Of your occasional appearances

A beauty rare and able to divide
The natural and spiritual worlds
As embedded in our minds

At night as I pray in my room
On a cold wooden floor
Longing for you

I swear a reckless life lived
To achieve the inevitable halt
And eternal sleep it gives

In hope that the afterlife will embrace
My soul and grant me one last look
At your pretty face

[b]Light Skin, Good Hair[/b] I was selfishly spewed from a Spanish sack Into the lost culture...

Light Skin, Good Hair

I was selfishly spewed from a Spanish sack
Into the lost culture of free slaves.
Born to combat the taunts crushing
The female of a darker shade.

A poor girl with concentrated smiles
Nested me in her arms.
She felt her beautiful creation
Was a wonder beyond her charms.

Mother was tainted by city fads,
Complexion, hair texture ruled.
Though her genes could never change,
A man to trap would do.

Father of an intolerant culture
Lived his life about in shame.
For my tree had all the likeness
But my roots were not the same.

Mother overwhelmed,
Felt suffering damned with growth.
Attempts to set me free
With a soft and fluffed pillow.

God declined my ascend
And granted me my life.
New Mother awed in marvel
At the child who was born twice.

So a throwaway may roam
Into worlds of sex and battles.
No family to guide is like
A boat without a paddle.

My journeys became clearer
With each and every pass.
If it’s true I am unwanted
Then my heart is full of trash.

So waste I did become
Into a world of sinful thrills.
Mankind birthed in rejection
Trains a mind, kill or be killed.

Now a natural mother’s grief
Drives desire seek and peek.
My eyes began to itch
As she starts to take her seat.

She searched for me for years
Plagued by guilt for most her life,
My candid tone bled hatred
As my words became my knife.

She asks if I’m a father
We spoke of my womanizing.
Suddenly she’s religious
After years of selfish hiding.

She asked about my feelings
Having three women with my child to care.
I responded “They’re just like you Mom,
They want a child with curls and fair.�

[b]What Should Have Been[/b] I sure was relieved As blood trickled down her legs, Soaked...

What Should Have Been


I sure was relieved
As blood trickled down her legs,
Soaked by pink footies around her ankles.
Color slowly darkening like the fatigue of sun.
I exaggerated concern,
Mundanely reacting
Like any good boyfriend should.
Selfish?
Maybe, but as broke as American made.
We’re all ugly like skinned knees
Covered by sewn morality...
No sin is greater than the next.

Besides, my actions made up for lack of heart.

I mean, come on,
This thing was not planned.
It’s not my fault the security of 3 years
Sent caution down the porcelain tornado.
I pulled at the height thereof,
I flexed.
I even revealed an empty house through the windows of my soul.
Now she’s teary while praying to God.
Amazing how she can love incompleteness.
Stagnant growth
That could have become an extra place at the table.
A life to teach, and raise,
Love.
Watching a being grow from the exhaustion's of my pleasures,
Into a compassionate human being
That I obviously let slip by.
A person-
One whom would look up to me with smiles
Honor my knowledge, and sigh in my protection.
Raw energy filling my home with sparks of
Openness and freedom, discipline, respect,

~And innocents~

Ok, I’m still relieved...
This thing,
This thing was not planned.
Funny though,
That I’m now sitting on the edge of this tub
Wondering if the heavens hear my soliloquy-
While muffling my cries,
Because apart of me never had a chance at the life
I willed away.
Damn,
It really is true
That we don’t realize what we’ve had
Until it’s gone.

[b]Ink Pen [/b] In my past life I was an ink pen. Forcefully rubbed with my life force Onto...

Ink Pen

In my past life
I was an ink pen.
Forcefully rubbed with my life force
Onto a surface of boast.
Spending most days sideways
Waiting for a fondling.
I was chewed on and sucked on
Stuck in a few ears
Discarded.
Passed around
A stick of sound
Numbers on a palm
A cheater.
A weapon
Kept as luck
Convenience
Tool.
I was dropped
Lost
Found and thrown.
Used by many to write beautiful poems.
A step higher than a sword
Envied and adored.
Helpful
Traded and useless
Abandon and soiled
Creative, doodled
Twirled, tapped
Stepped on
Cracked…
And crushed.
The cause of stains
Annoying, burned
Loved, hated
Rarely appreciated.
I was disposable
And never refilled
Committed some fraud
And signed a few bills.
Once I was even fought over.
That was my only moment of wealth-
And it’s sad that life sometimes repeats itself.

[b]Calligraphy[/b] Now that delicacy calms A chaotic heart, Steady hands Pride atop a...

Calligraphy

Now that delicacy calms
A chaotic heart,
Steady hands
Pride atop a canvas
With meaningful décor.
A feathered pen
Dipped in the blissfulness
Of meaning-
Artful,
With every curve
Tasting symbols of your name.
Space fills the elated movements
Eager for perfection-
As a tear smudges authenticity.
No righteous grace
Grants more room,
For the tattoo across my skin.

[b]In Scorching Heat Of Thoughts[/b] As if I was special I walk my rhythm like arrogance Like...

In Scorching Heat Of Thoughts


As if I was special
I walk my rhythm like arrogance
Like an old folklore dance.
Each step blessed in fairness
Lost in false awareness.
All these hip cats curving my spine
And in this, I am fine.

Some religious woman insists on speaking truth
As I mask in the cut perfected aloof.
I watch my kids grow
And old loves go
And street dwellers die
And I wave goodbye
And in this, I am fine.

Yes I’m flying low for all to see
Once to shy but now I’ll be
The one people dodge as they are screaming
“Wake up from your lucid dreaming,
This thing is not as it seems�
I guess they wanted to see me fly high
And in this, I am fine.

I’m welcomed back to this lack of protection
Once seen my safety during astral projection.
Was almost trapped out of my own body
I cried to God that I was sorry.
For his mercy I had to stop my lies
From that day forth I simply implied
And in this, I am fine.

Amidst a dreaded pyramid
A foe, health risk, and a friend.
I once knew them in another life
Tangled souls can’t be untied.
I speak these words for I have tried
I could run but could not hide
And in this, I am fine.

[b]Back In The Day[/b] A child never knows their troubled youth. Even as an adult I manage...

Back In The Day


A child never knows their troubled youth.
Even as an adult I manage to settle
Into the acute demise of tangibility.
Quietly sitting at my desk,
Phone unplugged,
Adrift a past, forging
Future tells of dire peace.
The thumping of my
Mutilated fingers
Takes me back
To colorful
Smiles.
Run-by backside squeezing
On girls clapping hands,
While they sing, in sync, tunes of pan-a-cake.
Playing IT in the dusk,
But careful not to run into the bad boys
At the end of the block…
They wore dirty cloths and threw rocks.
Gazing at clouds to catch a glimpse of heaven-
Maybe if I pray through the gaps,
Something may get through,
And prove that this foster child
Does have a voice.

Startled by the text message of my cell,
I angrily remove the battery and continue
My slide on the black ice of Reminiscence.
Frozen kool-aide in Styrofoam
Sold for 50 cents
Long before wired jawed gangsters came on the scene.
Sour pickles at the candy house
Dipped in hot sauce drenched chips,
And an ice-cold black cherry
Drunken fast before it got flat.
Eating chicken with Corey
From Harold’s,
Given to us for free because
Old Mrs. Mary felt sorry
For the ass kicking’s we took at home.

Watching pimps on the corner
TREAT them hoes.
While hustlers drive by in cadillacs
Fluently pantomiming to the beat of their system
To represent their set-
Wondering why others shine
While I’m left opaque-
Getting head while
Corey’s maker was finally met-
I’m not a gambling man
But I’ll definitely bet-
That childhood memories
Have a large effect.
Maybe I wasn’t meant to be loved,
But rather a bitch’s check-
Now I write for a cause
And called a poet-
Analytically solves
And evolves with sweat-
You don’t have to like my poems
But you will respect…

My pain doused
Self-bio
Tome.

[b]Hand Me Down Underpants[/b] At first sight appeared fresh off the line, Seemingly tight...

Hand Me Down Underpants

At first sight appeared fresh off the line,
Seemingly tight and clean,
Soft and all mines.

Soon I regretfully noticed wear
Flaking tracks dyed into the seat,
Interlaced pubic hair.

Worn elastic with interlinked waves
Spun webs of tragedy
To capture it’s prey.

As men before me freed behold,
These underpants soiled
With all their souls.

Now frayed, tattered, and bruised.
Loose and unfitting
Settled and abused.

Many times passed down made savage,
Worn for urban brand styles
Like 90’s jeans called damaged.

I scrub and I bleach, using tide and shout,
Other men laughing at me
Because they used to wear them out.

Only they knew when to quit the game,
Being worn by so many others
They threw them away.

The next sucker to receive them...
Yes, Is I.
Ignorantly gracious that something is mines.

Clinging to these things
Like the source
Of a dream,
I scrub
And I clean
Please make
These stains leave.
So many chemicals
I can barely breathe,
Please God,
All I want
Is something made
For me.

~Wishful thinking~

I’m scared to take them off when I sleep
Because whenever I awake
Their dangling from another man’s feet.

So these have loss their purpose, I seek a new pair.
I can no longer wear these,
If I have to share.

So goodbye underwear, truly a lesson learned
That something so worn
Only needs to be burned!

1st Rule of thumb, no sad music, It’s evil, and drags desperation along back of a pontiac,...

1st Rule of thumb,
no sad music, It’s evil,
and drags desperation along
back of a pontiac, staining the
pavement with obsession.

Second step:
Bury the low down
bitch alive!
You’ve already given her
everything under the sun,
why not give her the earth as well?

Ok, so you prefer not to
go that route? You’re right,
she may take pleasure
in the fact that
you have went through
so much trouble.
Suicide may be
an available option.
After all, mental anguish
is an ice-cold beer
on a hot summer’s day,
compared to being trapped
inside a pit of fire,
and burning in hell
for all eternity.


Time for plan {B}.
You can try jumping
your pathetic ass
in the shower,
and brushing your teeth wouldn’t hurt.
A shave wouldn’t kill you either,
and for crying out loud, put
on some damn deodorant.

Now, grab some notebook paper,
and write a lovely poem about
how she left you for a married man.
Write how she has gotten your only son
attached to this loser,
and now she’s knocked up.
put on some clean cloths,
take the bus downtown,

(Since your soft ass let her
have the fucking car)

and go to the open mic session.

Mingle with the ridiculously
new age, conspicuously shady beatniks,
snapping their fingers
for every sad sack that steps on stage
to pour out their heart in front of
total strangers; making you feel
heard when it’s only a disguise
to make you feel obligated to buy
their book.

Try walking over to the bar,
careful not to fall and drop
the ton of books and CD’s
you’ve just bought.
Talk to the pretty ladies,
but only the ones dressed in all black,
they’re so fucking artistically weird
that they will deep throat you in an alley,
while pissing out cocktail drinks
with the force of a water hose.

Hurry and catch that last #4
cottage grove bus back home.
Stand outside your apartment door,
key in hand, and ponder on the
poems you’ve just heard tonight from bitter
women who poke fun of men
with multiple baby mamas and no car.
Think about how they have some nerve,
when they’re no prized virgins themselves;
the only reason they don’t have kids is because
their used, beat up and diseased vagina
renders them incapable of breeding.

Go inside,
form a big phony smile,
and go lay on the couch,
since the bed holds to many
scents and memories.
Bask in the glory of freedom,
and masturbate to
exercise Infomercials,
since you have nothing better to watch,
because the cable was in her name.

Walking into my dim apartment television left on to warn off thieves Fantasy blue sparkles of...

Walking into
my dim apartment
television left on
to warn off thieves

Fantasy blue sparkles
of light dancing a
path to my ceiling fan

Sit my gouged hard-hat
on the
gum graffiti
table I found
up north

Bump the hills
of my dusty
work boots
that stink
to high heaven

While tossing
my faded
safety vest
that doesn’t
quite reflect
like it should

Grabbing the last
beer out the sticker
stained refrigerator

Wondering if she
will ever come back

This marks the end of toys the puppets are almost out of cotton Shreds of white fluff...

This marks the end of toys
the puppets are almost out of cotton

Shreds of white fluff all over the floor
chuckles at babysitter’s slave-picking

Bubblegum dares to smell her seat cushion
what a stinky old lady, we fall out laughing

Run into her room to swipe her bras
hide them between her mattresses

Finding her dead husband’s shiny gun
we’ve never seen one in real life

The sound was so loud

You slept with your eyes open...
and the puppets ran out of cotton

With snow comes stupidity. Everyone caught off guard by the same snow, brought...

With snow comes stupidity.

Everyone caught off guard by
the same snow, brought by
the same winter, brought by

the same months that came last year
and, the year before that.

Each flake floating down
like guardian angels, coming
to protect God’s people.

Maybe people can see the heavenly
faces, the ones off in a ditch who
ignorantly ignored the slick streets.

Or the ones rear ending someone
because they followed too closely.

Maybe they are looking at the angels,
that’s why they drive so dumb.

So I look around for the angels too, hoping
to see their faces, hoping my guardian
is near to protect my uninsured car
from being hit.

Because we all need protection, though
we all can’t afford it.

I bought you a Barbie doll, they were all out of black ones though. You can say she's mixed. It...

I bought you a Barbie doll, they were all out
of black ones though.

You can say she's mixed.

It sits on a shelf in my bedroom, unopened,
in a glossy box. I often wondered if
you would like it. Maybe smile, give
me the---good---daddy---hug.

Never mind that
your mom had me
belly up
in debt, or how my face crumples
at the sight of her, like a poem, written
all wrong.

Forgive I wasn’t there to hold your hand,
in a white room--
with needles in your arm.

I’m sure the angels saw you,
and you saw them too,
they made you smile, and rubbed
your sweet head.

I wonder if you looked for me, with every
screeching shoe in the hallway, every ice cream
bowl, and some extra.

I’m so dead in this world, and I can’t feel
my skin. Drinking makes me real, for a moment,
so I make the moments last.
It feels like I’m living without a soul,
like I have burst hell wide open, and
I hear laughter, it claws away
at my chest.
It feels like I’m spinning in a cyclone,
the air has dried into gasoline fumes
but the good Lord wont let me die.

Suffering from the----- should of-----could of,
all along, you suffered most.

Not the devil in your head, nor the
medicine that made you weak--

but daddy couldn’t be a man, not for one day,
and daddy never said goodbye.

I hope I die at home, with your Barbie
tucked within my arms, to give you
in heaven

God willing.

gray dust overlaps the wooden wings of the ceiling fan-- watching over this empty room haunted...

gray dust overlaps
the wooden wings
of the ceiling fan--

watching over this
empty room
haunted by the laughter and
romance once here

eggshell walls
have bled brown
from nicotine tar
and the hollow closet door
leans drunkenly
on one hinge

only one window
in this sad room
allowing summer air to
reach through, spinning
the blades of the ceiling fan
with a gentle push from
silent fingers

dust filling the air
like a prowler in the night
rains tears
from mournful eyes

Broke with bad habits sleeping on my best friend's couch Gas station clerk won’t...

Broke with bad habits
sleeping on my best friend's couch

Gas station clerk won’t accept
my handful of pennies
for a pack of smokes

Damn car broke down
ripped my favorite pair of jeans

Got wrote up at work for telling
the sean-john wearing
black-slang talking
white boy to shut the fuck up

I smell like a bad-cold-cough

my skin is breaking out
around my forehead

my eyes feel like
a pair of swinging shoes on a power line

Someone stole my drying calvin klein drawers
from off the back porch
and the fine-ass sistuh next door
is a lesbian

No daytime minutes on my phone
bootycall text won’t go through

Some chick at open mic night said to me:

“Ooh boo, that stuff you be writing about is soooooo funny�

...I just looked at her

The outside edges of my hands grows small patches of hair it crawls up my wrists connects...

The outside edges of my hands
grows small patches of hair

it crawls up my wrists
connects to my forearms

stretches all the way to my shoulders
then swoops under my armpits

Spreads out to my chest
down the middle of my torso
floods my groin

then divides my scrotums
burrows through the crack of my backside

and parts

I am, sometimes the cold steel table [i]where dead bodies are laid[/i] and their...

I am, sometimes
the cold steel table

where dead bodies are laid


and their faces show
no expression

just a dogged-out stare
and waiting

There is an overweight woman who lives right above me I feel her heavy steps in lazy...

There is an overweight woman
who lives right above me

I feel her heavy steps
in lazy movement


I peek through my curtains
while she walks her dog

she hides in the shade
of deadened sun--

a muffled laughter
in night air

Your black ass Long and lanky Fashionably blessed Cool smile and white teeth Workaholic...

Your black ass
Long and lanky
Fashionably blessed
Cool smile and white teeth

Workaholic with hidden virtues
Perfected casanova
Made all moves smooth

Attitude
Birthed by a broken home
Separated from all who cared
No wonder you hated to be alone

Neglected, but too strong for the streets
Stayed true to yourself
And stood on your own two feet

You captured many
Captivating, motivating
Gave so much away and still had plenty

Your mission fulfilled
But you came and went too fast
I’ll some day tell your kids
About your black ass

-- acceptance is like a cold cave with beaming light at both ends of choice --

-- acceptance is like
a cold cave with beaming light
at both ends of choice --

One hot day while the city glowed in opalescent sky women unconcerned with their...

One hot day
while the city
glowed
in opalescent sky

women
unconcerned
with their pudgy stomachs
spilling out
between
belly tops
and hip-huggers

I sat at
a red light
watching all
the world
move about
in short burst

A man in the street
sold me a bottle
of cold water
from his red cooler

The bottle sweated
like my
driving arm
and I felt cooled
holding it
between my thighs

The radio played
a 90’s jam

and people
in their cars
danced

and I danced too

Some woman
hollered

“Heeey�

while fingers popped
in sync
and the man
with the red cooler
sold lots of bottles
of cold water

and smiles
lit up
the south side

while a cool
breeze threaded
through
open windows
touching our skin
moving from
one person
to the next

braiding us
together in
one love

and our hearts
were beating
with one
sound

Then
the red light
turned green

cars sped off

tires
screeched

and me
the last to go
looked over
at the man
with the red cooler

and I knew
he’d seen it too

What have I to give in lain bones made prisoner on young ears dampened by grown men...

What have I to give
in lain bones
made prisoner on young ears

dampened by grown men swelling
with talk of salty vaginas
on tongues
and black bucks
humping away
on cornbread backsides

I filled a man's skin
extended bones, now stilts
wobbly
Prisoner to greedy eyes
feeding cold scrotums

I’m aching in my youth
a child-called-daddy
a heat melting me away
into salt-stains of my sweat

What have I to give
when hips brush
against my wagging tail

Throbbing veins
beneath thin skin
and ready

I am crippled in my thrust
crippled in my affection--

cracks in chapped lips
flows like rivers
to a pool of mossy rocks
in murky waters

I am crippled in my skull
crippled in my hands--

and I can not feel your brown skin
touching mines

I can not feel the snatch of your body from mines
crying
as the night incinerates you into ash--

a memory becomes your eternal urn

I can not feel my heart scab, nor
your heart fall from my hand

All that I feel
is what I am

All that I am
is given away

If I have nothing left
what have I to give

With a thin book in her lap licking her thumb before every dry rub of the next page-- she...

With a thin book in her lap

licking her thumb
before every dry rub of the next page--

she squints at the bus driver
announcing the next stop.

Then prepares for the bitter
February air;

a mirror of life, short and cold.

She stands, pulls the hanging cord
and sighs.

I found myself this morning, in the bed of a white woman. This woman, an odd woman, best...

I found myself this morning,
in the bed of a white woman. This woman, an odd woman,
best friends with my ex girlfriend.

We frolic in her basement apartment,
there, in our own world; ordering chinese, watching movies, all the while
pretending to make love, when we both know
it’s just a fuck!

I wash up in her bathroom sink, due to her
not having hot water yet. Washing the scent
of her lonely, black-man loving pussy,
from my aching, misused penis.

She gives big wet kisses, with her
itty-bitty lips, and her eyes, those sad eyes,
reminds me of a dog I once had; a dog I shot
behind the trees, near the train tracks

when he’d gotten too old.

I’m back in Chicago with one large plastic bag stuffed with everything I own. The bus...

I’m back in Chicago with one large plastic bag
stuffed with everything I own.

The bus ride from Benton Harbor Michigan
had been a long exhausting five hour ride.
I thought about a lot, not so much the man
who laid across two seats with smelly feet
hanging in the aisle.

Nor the maniac who sat behind me talking to himself--
something about carving skin like wood.

It was what happened before the bus ride: Coming
home finding my girlfriend with another man; her big
butt tooted in the air, him banging her viciously
from behind.

All this while Whitney Huston sang her heart out
on cd.

I dread facing my Father; his hard
disappointed stares, standing in the same spot

as before: where he wiped the corners of his mouth,
told me it was a mistake-- moving in with that woman.

And what about school --he said.
Those words whisked by me; I was a man in love,
twenty two, with a throbbing penis.

Now all I want is for him to flick at my face, give
me two for flinching, tell me to fire up the grill,

throw some beers in the cooler, and entertain ourselves
by watching the neighbor beat the hell out of his wife.

[i]...I've never seen you like that before, the way your eyes looked, it was like the devil...

...I've never seen you like that before, the way your eyes looked, it was like the devil was in you. I could tell you used every ounce of juice in you to not hit me. You are free to come and get your son whenever you want, and I promise not to hook you up with child support. But this relationship is over. I can't take any chances. Goodbye.

--–Precious.





Beer is running down the wall.
Rage is a thick hand nudging me to strike her.
The baby is crying now, he has heard this.

The house burns in blue flame, anger,
yelling –a relationship in its final moment.

Just want to knock things down,
bookshelf, lamp.
Punch holes, throw more beer cans,
hear it fizz before the thump.

She is scared, where the table divides us,
the glass one in the kitchen; I want to palm
the back of her head, and smash her face through it.

She has one finger up as if teaching me to count:
Just leave. Don’t do anything stupid, just leave.

Listening to our child cry, I feel ashamed;
the woman who lies in bed and cuddles him,
gives him her breast and prays I will always be here,

now afraid she will die tonight by my hands
–is begging in a whimpering, fear-stricken voice

to just leave.

Where I live, music plays right before you die. It's always been this way. I've heard the...

Where I live, music plays right before you die.
It's always been this way.
I've heard the music death plays,
a golden echo of chimes burrowing
through my ear like a finger.

My brother knows it too,
tells me Get away from here. Go home.

I leave him at the corner near the mailbox no one uses.
A man approaches him with money, and my brother
with his sleight of hand, tiny green bag between his fingers,
slides it in the man's hand.

A car pulls up, an arm hanging from the window with a gun,
and shoots.

My brother shoots back, running between this car and that car
like a dolphin leaping in and out of water.
Little cubes of glass raining down my shirt.
Coiled smoke that smells like a burning mattress,

and the chime of bullet shells falling from my brother's 9 mil,
as he pushes my head between my knees,
holds it there, until the music is over.

In the bathroom mirror, one side of your head covered with long braids, the other short and...

In the bathroom mirror, one side of your head
covered with long braids, the other short
and unfinished.

You asked me to pass you the bag of hair
hanging on the doorknob because your fingers
were too busy braiding, elbows swinging like a falling plane.

You asked to hear it again: how many women
have I slept with, which facebook friend, if any,
have I dated.

We’ve been through this, each time you make
a liar out of my memory.

“But I thought you said..."

Those damn words you say to trip me up. To see
if the story will change, so you can finally
label me with all your past men; the ones
you refuse to tell me about.

In your eyes I am the grease stains on the kitchen
wall, dried into a sort of silicone tear, frozen
and painted over. Now, just apart of the wall, a blemish,
or maybe some kind of history they don’t teach
you about in school.

I often wonder why me? Mistrust is obvious,
and it’s clear my sexual past grows inside
you like a fetus, ugly or cute.

“But I thought you said-- that last time...”

And I had to stop you there, because when you look
for trouble, even in an empty house,
you pull up the floors to find a dead rat, and swear to God
that I hid it there.