Misty, run

With  a closet  full    of   ruthless  tutus      when    the  police    come  to   shut  down  the party   and    inspect   the  house   with  flashlights beaming accusatory    in   a  march   that   feels   so   righteous    it  makes  us   sick   to  our   stomachs       we   have  a   hiding   place.  So  many   bodies  beneath   the   heaping    gauze     and   wounded    with    joy     I’m  never   leaving     the    stage   again      and  I’m  taking     satin    literally       black   feet   have   never   been   so  comfortable   bleeding   and     fearless       authority     has   never     been     so    imaginary    and    jilted       I’m   throwing   us    a   party        I’m    dancing     off      a    ledge    into    the   steady    blue   light   of   my    power   to   imagine   and  then  spin   you     out      of        existence        

Petty Immortality / Petit Mort / Getting off

You used to  be funny    now  you’re  just   dumb    and  that’s    a  muse     agreement    that’s   a   jeep  and   a museum      entrance    a   numb   bloom    of  dental   records      to   prove   it       was  your   horsemen  dressed in bones  and lighthearted  vengeance    and  kept   on     riding    and  eating  ham   from  the whistling   pockets  of  cedar   dens  while your   vehicle’s tongue is bitten  with splinters    and  your   fingers   and  compassion  forced  to insert  itself    into  moments  of  mutual  suffering     and  lurk   and   crack  you   open    and   taste   and  ruin  the   nasty   opera   of   your   wishes     So  now   you   wanna   live         now  you wanna   be   loved    instead   of  worshipped      now    you  wanna   wear  protective    styles      now   you wanna   fold    your   eyes   across   mine  like   some  minor  kaleidoscope  and   think  Ima   not    swerve            or   otherwise  deliver no mercy       now   you wanna  love  me   even  if  it   kills   you     wanna     do  me like you  did  white  jesus     and  then  pray to me like Ima  even     cuddle or rustle  keys         now    you  want   me   to   teach    how   to   live  forever    or at least how to  dance   in a finite   expression   of   something   other  than   regret       and   you   think   Ima    not    swerve          It    was     the      end            of    western   thought       we    had       reached    its  paddled  cliff       fought    our     ways    back   to  the   restrictions   of   innocence   so  our virgin could sit on a toilet and fuck  her  boyfriend  while  his   wife    was at the party   looking    around   like    she   was   lost    or    had   lost  something     the   cross    or   the crossroads   or   her  Bone  Thugs melody  that    was    a  hymnal     that   was    a  double   breasted  jacket   on   Malcolm  Little   type   switch    in    the   pattern     of   loveless  riddlers    drifting    into    car   radios     and  infomercials     in     tears   and   handcuffs          

Stars when we shine, you know how I feel

http://afrosonics.tumblr.com/post/169997243494/not-your-reason-not-your-future-not-your

 

A Place to be Glad

Afro-asiatic    spastic   tickle  in   my   throat    when  I     go   for     it          did  you   know   there’s   sugar    in    the   ocean    tangled like slow laughter in the weeds ?        Did  you   unload    the  gun     or   remember    a   shard  of  coral  calcium    and    send   a trance   yawning for  sunny  mirrors   before it lunged  into  your  artery        either   way   you’re   gone         I   want  to  be  honest      I    celebrated     I   danced     on    the  blunt  glass    of    your   nectarine  attitude    and     sipped    the   bloody   mud  packs   of  my    own  deliberate footprints  on  the  way,    fasted   on     that   blood     until   you   came  back    and   my  throat    constricted    in   a two-faced seizure   of   hope   and    dread.   

Resurrection  is  petty     a   hustle    a    hassle    I  love   you     I’m   so     glad