Thursday, December 27, 2018

What if I Rip your Heart Out

Over  a code  of echoes         dead Malcolm X  is smiling on his stretcher          someone mumbles no disrespect   in the  junkyard                 and his servants and  killers carry  him apart from bleeding  he is smiling Harlem         crimes are meekness in  the evening walking too far  without a chip or ripping your  heart out while grinning so    what if  I did  

And throw your music  in the street with some hypodermic needles  

Mingus   and the Italian    sheets of leverage     as we re-litigate bow-legged    speech some wires in a war           hat that aim what a bastard         I mean they were married but not to one another

I hope the communists blow you people up   He   quips        I learn it’s  cuddle with rebels   and their rifles or    be

 Sold with  cowards as     their water    

Saturday, December 22, 2018

He collapses

Wiltern dash   spurned shake a       love ballad leg smallhead   perfect edges up/up both    reggies stuff the ballot    talbot’s is canceled be serious          ll bean too I turn to you for the    fleece he sheets as skin has too many nieces and no believable  brothers nor cousins no crease in the collapse a pickup        appetite up up Capulet yesterday’s star-crossed yesterday’s blood on the   cross yesterday is dead, boss lead leg and the limping elder is doorway  a curtain a naynay a no whip beating

You are encouraging ghosts to haunt you forever

Sunday, December 16, 2018

Hess, Run

By proxy  is an ugly    abiding stride        seems poison green       and the footing noise on broken   land is  bleed   me bleed   me bleed me.          I’ve never   loved a man     more than I love   this dusty fugitive        the way he says nothing    and means it the way    he beams like a mantle and shuttle inside   me and means it the way he says   he longs to die and means it the     way he rides his affect like he dreams     it the way he is dead and means it the way  he is dad and means it

Thursday, December 13, 2018

Tuesday, December 11, 2018


 and so we are dreams darkening the   skin of walls. The underworld in Ancient Egypt     got me pregnant and unwed what a petty way to   get my attention. What a lie and then. They call it   the boat the carries the sun I’m staring at a photo   of their version of hell or daybreak and at another photo   of the hold of a slaveship when it occurs to me that they are the same place that maybe    we’re the glorying pawns in a thousands of years long ritual to  get off that one boat sun slaves worshipers there is  no other ruler or under to adore the spun up noose knot didn’t wanna use    the n word but in looting the underworld for diagrams of tomorrow if you   don’t go crazy you might no go

Thursday, December 6, 2018