Monday, March 19, 2018

Black Rapunzel's Confession

Fetish, my favorite place         undifferentiated shades of paris    and wasted aristocracy on the fizzy  blond meat of their delusion          such approval in units called wigs or     gag orders one for all the nights of her  alltime youth and every lisping rooftop dizzy     with tuxedos and blow red lips and yellow afros pinched  into nylons and pinned down along the nape of a brown    skull howling in the shoulders of Jimmy’s guitar no castle     tall enough to unburden the coil or cloaked spiral of her intel         what she knows hidden under a bleached haystack that rivers her back like  the possessive fingers of a deadbeat husband she divorced some time ago but      he’s all in her hair all loose there all wet and civilized

Friday, March 16, 2018

Tuesday, March 13, 2018

Drug Money / I don't know about these narratives of progress

If one  more score  tells me to   play subtle or  sings what   was it   you said   about luck     into  my cupped      palms  it might get     wrong for a while    like cold stilettos on   a mountain road but couldn’t     find the rest of  the body and the snow leaking limp    blades of ice age was a relief       next likely fix was Huey really smuggling    drugs into east oakland when he was shot was      eldridge really falling off a ladder he’d used to   peep at a naked white woman is addiction the     same as need or more like revenge pulled    the knife from killmonger’s heart then clay’s then ours arson        and charlie’s still crying and snorting his alimony looking  for the punishment he can’t find the strength to inflict on himself as atonement     be subtle tuck hips close your lips tell it all give nothing away        lady my lady my contagious laugh and slaver interior laver, here it means to wash in   French lav (like lava) vay like wavy cosmic wash the labor clean and high say nothing    of the cure for salvation pretend an eighth paced seven days is plenty but your whole place smells   like stale tortilla chips and empty bottles and to get across the room you pretend to be hopping over mister cleaver in    snowfilled stilettos and even then the snowman melts and you slip into the next phase of soul on ice     where he celebrates his crimes and sends for cigarettes and lsd never saying sorry or please never leaving Tangier with         deer and lamb one animal one awful black spell

Tuesday, March 6, 2018

Public Servant Number One

None  of the blades  in Al Sharpon’s   stomach bump the lattice work   of his slick back to pink oil    status and he will not stop   taking pictures in his undershirt   in DC bathrooms and then I had this    spare kimono from an era of clemency    and flea markets and the urge to burn  the dried roses with it before they bloom again     and as apathetic as liver thistle after   2 AM I believe him when he says it was vitiligo and     not just bleach and good no lye relaxer after Embassy    Suites we couldn’t go back to the Best Western in Newark where     I fell asleep drunk in the middle of kissing him and woke up       to cash and an empty robe hiccups cold tea his shoes full of snow    on the ledge of the balcony

Sunday, March 4, 2018