Falling up

On the night
I learn about Demitri Allison I smoke and I cry
And I drink

And I try

And I talk

And I laugh

Like I ain’t me

I look in the mirror

And I look in the mirror

And I see

And I look

Again

I reflect

And I respect

This shell that leaves me without helmet

Exposed

To the elements

Prison

Statistics

Poor

Health

And I wanna go home

Let my family know I am not

A brown boy falling from

3000 miles up

Days in The West II

This time I want to remember
not just with my head
but with my heart
with this body
This time I want to be open
Not just with my mouth
with my ears and eyes
I want to (re)discover practice
I want to discover play
For so long studying freedom in a glass box
It feels good to be out in open air
With respect for the elements
this Community of breath

Days In The West I

This is New
This felling of renewal
fills me
even in this moment of distress
Home is where I am
My heart is split
in Two Places
All I want to do is
Be Present
And be a present
for some kid
who doesn’t know
wonderful can be everyday
That the Peace that we speak of
Cant be bought
or found
on a the shelf
or showroom floor
Most days I struggle
to remember this lesson myself
When the waves of welfare
and guilt around around a “choice”
to be poor poet
Are crashing against my lifelines
Yet I am here
In the midst of it all
Trying
Pushing
Gathering
Just to be ok with being

Starchild #1

I am somewhere reeling

out of control a soul trapped in the body of  human

We brothers be Moon Men

wrapped in Lunar Eclipse Skin

a riddle wrapped in swaddling fro’s

with enigma colored star patterns

a stripe

for every clutched wife

every suspected knife

when the only concealed weapon was hiding in plain plight

an implicit criminality in melanin

But we colored boys be brave

flee the cage

grab spear and disappear into the Darkness

Darkness is a strange thing

It can all too often be too much of everything to find itself

Too much Blame

too much Guilt

too much Defensiveness

too many fUCK yOU’s

Not Enough Love You’s

We are misunderstood

perplexing beings

because people often forget we are human

or at least dressed like it

This Sunday I wore no tie

instead I donned sleep

wore covers like a cocoon

Picture Me Black Butterfly

dreams my metamorphosis

the Only time I get to Evolve

really get to solve all my problems

Feel like I don’t owe a debt to society that charged me in the first place

One moment in present presence of being

They say the opposite of fear

is curiosity

yet we still confuse them to the point

where they respond with the former Fear

so now there’s no one moved to tell us what’s right

then a million critics when capitalism reassures Weezy what he should write

even if its Wrong

A million different colors concentrated into one song

one soundtrack of a life

Close the case

compress the face

Into a zip filing cabinet

we don’t hear the audio until it hits the radio

or the family sits across from the quarterback behind glass

clutching receivers

like its 2 minutes left

As the guard screams 2 minutes left

and the song has barely started

Funny how we don’t see the system similarities

How close “Give me liberty or give me death”

Sounds to “Get rich or Die trying”

When lady Liberty has always been a laundered shade of green

On on this plantation where

Freedom really means you can pay to do as much dirt

as you can stick to the blood on your hands

They forget this was never our movie…

We just wrote the soundtrack

A people with stolen Language

Lost in Trans Atlantic translation

like a piece of Santa Maria driftwood

We Learned well though

That dollars make sense

and cents well

They make you smell a little too much like you’re burning

From Welfare or Wic

A candle with two ends

Death or Taxes

government hold the matches

40 hours or 30 lashes

fill their pockets or caskets

they treat us like animals

beings without conscience

like people without families or feelings

like these systems that tell us after stolen history

40 acres and a mule will suffice

Then you get it and they still don’t treat you right

We are men in a machine

I’d imagine it looks like a giant

cotton gin

with gears like 28 inch Tiananmen tank tires

and a furnace fueled by blood soaked cotton and Fubu t-shirts

and when its all said and done

They throw us away

like cheap labor

Talk about how we should’ve been

better fathers

better brothers

better husbands

When we learned this from you America

Studied your script

The same one Reagan read from

The same one Dov Charney is reading from

and so we wrap ourselves in dream like costumes

True American Apparel

Politician pilgrims hand us these presents like blankets

and don’t get the enigma colored star patterns

but hope the gifts

would silence the voices of thousands of lost souls

wrapped in the vacuum of a lunar eclipse skin

We Brothers be Moon Men

Everett

Looks just like the man I met at this night.

Looks just like the man I met at this night.

I meet Everett at the Bar

he is a 50 year old Man wearing over sized Jacket and undershirt

in 30 degree weather

He asks for the cheapest beer they have

Bartender replies Naty Bo

gimme one of them he says

and begins to look for his money in the two cvs bags

he has brought in with him

that seem to hold what’s left of his life

After polite introduction

He asks the 20 something brunette

                     if she is afraid of black people

The barkeeps pounce

Claiming he is asking “racist” questions

As if we don’t share a history of silence

as if the question isn’t one our fathers founded

The rest of the bar finds him annoying

I find him sitting satire

The joke no one gets

Tar baby Tosh.0

So amazing the way we claim space

For ourselves

Like the space is one we were destined to manifest

He is too loud now

Talking to this lady on the phone

dismissively calls her bitch

The way white men do with their wallets

yet this is no cause for alarm

not the reason he is out of place

There are no cat like reflexes

no outbursts or barroom brawls

This bar is too small

A row of gas masks line the walls

They are small the kind children might wear

Almost encouragement

For lovers in the night

To think of post apocalyptic potential

pre natal porter

empty vessel bodies

bottle the baggage we will birth

have a round on we

Start tab

charge it to the shame

The energy is off

The music starts

She makes the drink in front of me

And keeps an eye on Everett

Her eyes scream creep every time he speaks a word to anyone that isn’t me

I can hear her father telling her “baby there are some people you just can’t help”

I,

the only black man in the bar besides the drummer and Everett

At this point realize

With my income and 20 more years

I could be him

A walking library in a room full of blind people

That has not yet translated itself into Braille

feeling for what they know is there

but don’t have the language to acknowledge

His slurs and forward questions

Are the only ways he know to be social

It’s is culture

It is diverted eyes and

a life that doesn’t small talk often

He uses his last four dollars to buy a shot

barkeep is suspect of his request

He sees me friend

A face that won’t dismiss him

Won’t call him creep in its expression

Fact is

I see him

Uncle, Cousin, Brother , Dad

For some boy who looks a lot like me

And here he is

A mosaic of labels and brown glass shards

And it is all I can do to write

In this noisy bar

Restless Night

Photo By: child_stainless DeviantArt.com

Photo By: child_stainless DeviantArt.com

Learn to vomit quiet
This night is not so graceful
It is hardwood littered with left feet
And bruised toes

A motorco moonwalk to soon to save face
Wish this night I could wear different face
Marijuana mask
Covers the scars well
The ones I can’t always hide
in conversation
with these singed vocal chords
from burnt choir robe offerings to a jealous god

I just want to not feel
Not care
Not hold this
It is not mine
Yet it is
Wish my partners understood relationships are no different than friendships
Such a persuasive paradigm
we live in
this world is not enough
Yet tonight I am losing
Breath and speed

She lies next to me
The night
residue on an erased right answer
I am here restless and wanting

I, the elephant in an empty room

This night is no fun
Spent mostly schmoozing with potential friends, lovers, friends of lovers past
This followed by a lack physical contact
Feels like punishment
Friends are not supposed to do this to each other
At least not so soon
Theres so much more to know
Before we stop assuming good intentions

Dreams

Image
Dreams

Seems like God didn’t see fit to give a black man nothing but Dreams*
And I’ve lost a lot of sleep to then
Slept through Childhoods because of them
Soon as you catch
Seems you fall right back behind

Got half a mind to give in
Half of me is fed up
Don’t wanna try no more
Feel like I been working my whole life
Destined to die working for someone
who’s mad their tax dollars
Are going to keep my children clothed
Fed, Educated

Said they shouldn’t have to pay for us to be healthy
Say we ain’t giving enough to the machine
Funny, I have always felt wrung out by the gears
Pressed permanent
Wear this blue collar like a scarlet A
Glad I wasn’t born a woman
Or Immigrant
Or not speaking the Native language
Just Black
They taught me it was the absence of color
Found out it was the opposite
In a country that treated me opposite that definition

I want so many things
Things it don’t seem unreasonable for a young man to want
Things adults taught me with the golden rule
Now seem unreasonable
Unless I sell myself to the highest bidder
“That’s just how it is,” they say
“Work  harder,” they say
Head down
Back to your regularly scheduled programming
Put on the chains and repeat the phrase

Our bodies be tourniquets for this broken system
This nights filled with shots and slings
Still asking you what I can do for my country
that doesn’t feel like a slow death
A secret kept in a wicker chest
This country breathes inside of me
While I apply pressure and heat
Keep the swelling down
Go to work and smile
Clock in and check out
Whatever makes you happy has a price tag
Even the wife and kids
Don’t we look like a happy family
No tears for the camera
Only bright smiles and plastic smiles
Pose like porcelain
Like you are valuable because the flag said so
Red
        White &
                    Blue
                                Money
Power       
        Respect
Drink More

Eat Less

Unless it’s Corn or Chicken

And my Heels are clicking
In  pair of shoes made by people they call Yellow
Trying to envision a place called home on stolen land
Missing the people they call Red
Illegal as the people we call Brown
Like our skin is not the same
all when put next to white
Seem a little less pure
Is it no surprise they call me black
Something to be feared
Like the  night
Prone to violence and fights

Bob

Weave
Quick Left

Fake Right


I pause with patient for sight
Remember the past in presence
Remember I am but clay when I hear the rumble of rockslide
When the hills roll like pills
Roll like rock and hard places
Stop like old faces
Faded photographs
Remember I am speaking
Polaroids
Remember I am humam
Remember I am Breathing
Remember I am held
Remember to take them “no’s” like vitamins
Remember all the black gold
in a prison pipeline
Remember that I am more than statistics
Remember to take these dreams
and spin a better reality

Poem was inspired by a quote from A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry