black az
I like women with
sanitary assholes
& rounded cheeks that jiggle,
under cotton pajama bottoms
climbing apartment stairs
to serve my endless addiction
that night
I fucked her
until tears of joy
filled her glossy brown eyes
beyond love
beyond relationships
flesh worshiping flesh
in spiritual agony
insert french kissed
tongued booty hole
betrays the intellectualism
of an emotional response
E-Coli interrogatory
taste buds bursting
you must love every part
of her……….this night
the 1st time I finger fucked
a girl in a Cornish practice room
behind a black baby grand
I pulled my finger from her
nappy hole
only to find it coated with a
white milky discharge
this was all I’d ever known
so I thought pussy was nasty
and that pussy juice was foul
putrid and white
until I met my favorite hoe
on Rainier Avenue who’s pussy
glistens with purity and taste
as pure as the morning dew
it’s like coming home dirty
and washing your dick in the sink
in the bathroom, no ones talking
she passes out drunk and ask me in
the morning “did you fuck me”
all the pussy
all the dope
all the booty
& extra towelettes
Saturday, March 19, 2011
I used to think that life was precious
until the morning of Saturday, March 19, 2011
when the fourth jumper
a Black Man man
jumped to his death
from the 8th story hallway window
of the Harvard Court Apartments
in Seattle
on Capitol Hill
where everyone loves
to be beautiful
things like this don’t make the papers
because that Man was Jesus
and we didn’t see Him
and once we admit that
we must all admit that
we’re just sex, salt, n savory savages
in search of the greatest experience
for me
the authority
want’s to keep it quiet
I never knew his name
Gregory Clark
a human being
a walking soul
a loving spirit
a flying angel
in a concrete pool of blood
and only if someone had seen him on the elevator
on the way up to the 8th floor and had struck up a conversation
with him and had in just a few moments some how made a human
connection, and
because we’re all alone
living in the isolation of our sphere of human influence
blinded by our own experience
unorganized cyborgs
plugged in
tuned out
silence seeking
Ipod ear fuck
pecking classical pigeons
eagerly accepting the shock or the pellet
just because
it affirms our existence and we can know
for even just a moment who we are…
and why
and who they are
and what’ s the plan
and only if
they could have spoken
a kind word
or a gentle gesture
that may have changed a mind from madness
to the feeling
that we are not alone
we have, just one another
we have humanity
but humans will not resolve to address the real
evil of man as officers or as social workers
or as musicians or as poets,
but only as people
they might have a meeting, or install
bars on all the windows, or put up flyers
with mental health referrals on all the floors…
but what they won’t do
what we won’t do
what I won’t do
is knock on every door
and make a human connection
that sez I love you
because you are me
and we are
God
listening
I can touch the leaves
on the tree outside my window
and if I’m really listening
the new music
will move me to tears
at 4:37am
city birds sing country songs
tweeking to the tweekers
awake with worry
or crack
it’s the same song
short shrill
fresh, crisp
pleasing, knowing
God is my creator
I often look out the window
and see Him in that Tree
in the Epiphany
of a mutual orgasm
and in the turned back
of a lovers side
rising from the sheets
a black mountain
of soft porous stone
if I’m really listening
I’ll hear the silence
between the spaces
of blissful music
catcalls and shouts
of recalcitrant musicians
and impotent muses
longing for higher pay
seats in buns
or just a ride home
slapped
snubbed
ignored
dismissed
rejected
alone
if I’m really listening
I might hear myself
whispering in my ear
thoughts that only I
in holy secrecy
can understand
if I am really
listening
this moment
the library is a good place
to meet women
much better than
the welfare office
your library type woman
reads books and knows how
to use a computer
so which bitch
the choice is yours
better to err
on the side of whoredom
than to let a Queen fall
never weep like a child
for want of a Woman
licking sucking
sniffing through dirty
clothes hampers
or a woman
that wants 2 dicks
inside her
her snoring excites me
sleeping eyes closed
seemingly unaware of the
smut, smudging my screen
as I recline
pajama pants
down to the ankles
relieving energy long repressed
in liquid nightmares
our lives as glass
dressed, polished
ornaments so easily smashed
& broken into a thousand pieces
sharp, blood letting
shards, waiting to be swept up
& discarded, slicing
unbeknown through
calloused feet traversing
well worn apartmental lanes
this is my moment
across all the spheres
of time
I will listen to the thought
of revolutionary hearing
and ride upon the angled wave
of my lovers motion
and
for once do
something
today
right
now
in this
moment
for this moment
is mine
the squirrel
there’s a robin singing
sitting on the 5th story tree limb
outside my window
he’s not singing to me
he’s singing to the other robins
they know his name
and understand the meaning of his song
I’m only a passive observer
watching others do life
the squirrel climbs almost vertical limbs
& he never falls
even if I could live a thousand years
& stare out the window
even the great great great great
great great…
granchild will never fall
God is perfect
so how about us
so frail, so corrupt
yet made in the image
of a perfect Being
tepid thoughts
neither meaningless nor profound
neither passive nor challenging
neither spring nor fall
neither male nor female
neither giving nor taking
wanting so much to be remembered
playing funeral scenes
especially that part where
everyone gets up
and says only the good things
imagining one by one
those that knew me
& never called
nor bought my record
praising me in death
if I don’t have a cigarette
I want one
if I have a pack
I smoke too much
smoking like so many things
I do is
suicide on the installment plan
in an emergency
I’ll go
to an AA meeting
to bum a cigarette
and smoke in the cold wind
beneath the brick arches of Unitarian dogma
lonely but not alone
feeling but the surface of the crowd
so now it’s my turn
now that I can’t find the remote
after using our last gas
to drive a long way
& only to find that the foodbank
is closed when they’re
supposed to be open
now
sitting here alone
as my fate hangs outside
my window, to shallow 4 death
too high 4 life
an epitaph
a whispered murmur
my legacy
some things so private
need not be shared
I share them anyway
because you might need to know
my path
to my pain
it might help you to know
you’re not the only one
that’s known enough
to know that you
really can know
nothing
that’s why
people don’t call me
my phone is dead
anonymously unlisted
charged off so
I thought getting food stamps
sleeping rough on
housing subsidies was so clever
then a young woman in her 20′s
I heard her talking to the real estate agent
about making them an offer 10K below the list price
and I thought :
she’s buying a condo in this economy
what is her job?
how much is in her bank account?
I hate being a hater
resenting the wealth
of other people
oh so temporal
I don’t hate them for being rich
I hate myself for being poor
the clown
I shoulda been a lawyer
cuz I’m so smart
I can talk good
& I’m very convincing
on second thought
I shoulda been a preacher
cuz I always need money
& I’m really good at askin 4 it
esp 4 a good cause: Me
or a pimp
cuz I like ho’s
or a dope dealer
I like to get high
or a clown
cuz I like to make people laugh
or a fool
cuz I’m stupid
but I coulda woulda shoulda
did something!
so I wrote this poem
I’m a poet
an artist
the rent’s not paid
loans are in default
creditors garnish and sue
and the feds & the state
they just take it
liens, garnishments, & levies
and the birds shit white
on my black mercedes
I stay in the clouds
living on food banks
and generous girlfriends
& at times I sit in my chair
and cry the tears of Man
that wants so much to give up
but I’m counting on me
and so are you….
so all the things
I shoulda done
enjoying a glass of tea
a cigarette, a movie
browsing internet porn
all the things
that keep me from
becoming a great artist
or just a good person
this paralysis
bound feet, constricted
seeping down
like the slow shower drain
in my sanctified imagination
speaking and calling to me
flush it down
& turn on the
light, to guide us
through our personal storm
what really matters
I mean what really matters
matters
jump 2
the second jumper
I didn’t know him
once again
the 8th floor
the jump was
from the rear
of the building
he landed in the parking lot
above the grated square
of the drainage cover
the blood , like rain
ran down the drain
into the sewers
and out to the sound
where the fish absorbed the
essence of this life
and this time
we made the papers
a local community blog
wondered why
2 suicides in 10 days
from the same floor
of the same building
(3 if you include
the man that shot himself
in the adjacent building)
in fear of life
an open window beckons
a demonic push
quick and almost painless
and the flyers
in the hallway
on the elevator
read:
“if you have any concerns
or would like to talk the
social worker is available
…”
here is my concern
mutha fucka’s are
jumpin out the window
and we’re leavin flyers
on the elevator askin
people if they want to
talk…..
maybe it’s time to
knock on doors
look in on folks
and show some Love
untitled 27
she awoke this morning
6:15 AM
with the shards
knives of glass
stabbing bloodless wounds
into the golden body
golden brown
& ash black pickaninnies
sitting on an upside
down bucket in the shower
for the hours
water fall motion
heat & steam
speckles goblets
glistening beads
falling, crashing
flooding porcelain
prism vectored drainage
soft left
she is my love like
hot water
boiled blanched
black skin
clamy tightness
to the touch
of a reluctant massage
if life is fair
why do losers win
and winners lose
chill factor
shrinks the tender Nubian pores
this is my process
exposed
naked
if baby’s are so beautiful
why do they grow
into old men
that commit sins in the night
if money can’t buy happiness
why will I be happy on the 1st
if
if I’ve got so many friends
on facebook
why am I all alone
if God loves me
why did he kill
Jesus, or invent
the devil
and pain
and suffering
to make me stronger
even in my ignorance
the passion of my mystic
self
monkey monkey
zulu zulu
Omniscient Science
LOrd know me
help me to reveal
among these
ignorant pedestrians
the true of measure of my character
so that they might know me and my
genius
this day
if only
for my pride
I would rule you
and then
I could be happy
if only
for a moment
if
if
if
F
u
c
k
means Love
the beat
Osiris breaths
pastel tones
arrested comatose
a kinetic spirit
beating down doors
shaking window seals
until the sheets of silence
rip through the noise
of a pitched nimbus
this is my recompense
a dying angel
sword sheathed
in penis envy
waiting for the
wink of gay Jesus
forgetting verses
of condemnation
denying the demon
of personality cult
like neighborhood serial killers
serving donuts at the PTA
lonely insertions
on feather pillows
stained, impartial
gossip, told
to new noses
fixed between ass cheeks
in romper rooms
known unknowns
& unknown unknowns
paint the brow
sweating crystal tears
beyond musical elements
in march time
signifying unknown nothingness
walking down funky Broadway
where everyday
is Halloween
do you have
anything to eat?
perhaps a
perpetual duck breast
plated nouveau cuisine
bloody poultry
wiped around the edges
that hairy
sous chef used
the same
the same again and again
that funky towel
touched my plate
that night
those collective germicides
as induced HIV
untitled 53
once the leaves fall from the trees
outside my 5th story floor window
through the limbs of trees
grown up through pavement
I can see the snow-capped
mountains in the distance
thinking as mountains
looking down at us
from the dragon perspective
all those
microscopic clusterfuck folk
have coalesced and constructed
have changed the natural to their concrete nature
but I don’t want to be a victim
especially when the pain
belongs to someone else
especially when invisibles
need extra blankets
and artificial limbs
dismembered in wars fought to advance
my pregnant notion
the bastard of freedom
his mother a dog
licking the vomit of muddy
epitaphs written by inclusive
fat people on sabbatical
to an unknown region of earth and sky
sky like fire
4 as that bitch burns
it reigns pleasure and seals
the envelope containing the judgment
of our flesh
cast to the Lake of Fire
searing flesh awake
brisk like ice showers
snow in heaps
discarded white shit
as the potential
of flooding waters
catfish tug boats
pilot the bayou
dead body
in tow
mismanaged chicken, pork & beef
rat, hair & roaches
cocked delivered
to the gallows
of usurpation
filmed live
on camera phone
piled along the roadside
of oil and coal
black sand
in crushed relief
decay
people without food
have no need for toilet paper
or perfumed muzzles
or bejeweled dog collars
sparkling
in the air
negative ionization
charged particles
duslets of water vapor
cast an acrid pall
over Washington
a black man
in the grey house
a grey man
in the black house
a brown man
in the beige house
13 a magic number
let that Mason make
manifest His destiny
we can watch
from the rafters
impotent observers
waiting to shout
Amen
a crying memory
a phallic entropy
shots fired
Hitler’s
vested interest
in the corporate rapture
of Vanagon elitism
the fashion of protest
a fridge magnet
on the fringe
telling stories
in generational revision
the weather men
my good neighbors
antiseptic MLK day celebrations
inoculate republican households
against the vague impression of injustice
all the black panthers serve breakfast
all the racist love negroes
all the children have gray skin
all the girls danced like flappers
all the boys were communist
their parents good Union folk
commit domestic violence
in the silent 50′s
bouncing on Uncles lap
above the stiff bonner
of grinning pedofillia
everyone knows he beats
her, but at church they tell
a different story as
accidents do happen
as in my fist accidently
breaking your jaw
as in my dick accidently
fucks you in the ass
until the blood mixes
with sperm and the
abomination of our collective sin
is birthed along side the
river of our revision
feed the World
on Christmas, Thanksgiving, maybe Easter
or Tsunami, Earthquake, 911,
find them some Housing
and a sustainable green economy
where they can quietly fuck
& smoke sticky blunts
laying up on
Queen size pillow tops
& fluted shams
farting new philosophy
from the ass-hole of knowledge
speak to me