religion

try to imagine in less words.
galaxies can be shaped with flesh.

it is not my doing
to convert jesus to energy
remember, from purveyor to observer, big movements start small in hearts

truth is,
sometimes things needn’t be made too much thought

the red clay which shaped man was humble beginnings
I smile
choosing gratitude in light.
in land, water, old roads, and song

there is truth.
we co-create
it’s lasting image through good works
soft and calloused.
through love
this universe is made honest.

golgotha is no physical location

Golgotha is no physical location
. . . is no moral lesson to be posited to the willing and the listening.
Jesus was blood
bottled
and packeged for voyage
carried on slaveships along with 5 million hearts in holding

no blood- not one drop was spilled as they left the ivory coast
and we drank
believing half-hearted
that the unrest in our spirits
was thirst

At the dock
White men, observing our supposed stupor
demanded what remained of our bloated bellies move out of his vessels
and onto auction blocks no bigger than the spirits of beasts.

what can be found here ain’t salvation
or dignity.
what dignity can be had in enslavement?
what humanity in de-humanizing?
what song in the chorus of screaming?

chains. . .
made legacy songs.
formed dark notes
with sinister organs
and we sang gospel roused of this filth.

it can only be seen as the grace of energies . . .
that we held some part of our spirit indigenous
authentically African.

contraband

dere are terrible nights dat bring us longing
ah am reminded of thousands of men movin’ready ta risk stability an sanity 
for a feigned intimacy
a fleetin’ embrace

ah am one- have been one bent over park benches in a stupor beggin’ ta be plowed
by fantasy men 
possessors of dicks de size of mah shoes

ah know truth well
have been wid it while questioning wat darkness could bring …
wat solace may be had in final closings …
if dis fuck would bring closure …
an wat exctasy may be had in a release while holding an tasting seas of misery some piece left on mah tongue …
if fate had planned me doom long ago …

in truth- ah wanted ta be held
taken in
an care of 
in truth ah wanted ta be seen past nail polish, 
inviting hole,
whorish mouth
hip switch an’ halleloo

ah came ta dis darkness ta get feeling
despite bein’ warned
despite bein’ seein’ evidence of de contrary in rape scenes, suicide attempts, White men playin Risk wid Black skin, luring sin an’ manipulation

he asked where mah voice had gone
“how could you lay here both wanting an unimpressed? why don’t you sing when we touch?”
skin intimate indeed.
ah hold mah skin
in respect an’ disgust.
see potential
an’ warfare. 
skin is contraband. 
contempt
an’ spiritual ground.

ah should have used mah vision 
ta see wat game dis was.
an opted out.

mah pain. 
is immense.
is real. is in need of holdin’
not another night in de hidden temple. 
not in need of another night of exchanging death in ejaculation.

teeth

they’ve come undone

jagged things 

once pieces whole 

one by one falling

sometimes ejected by force,

misplaced hope,

meth,

liquor,

running,

or a weighted misery.

 

ive become comfortable here

in this still death

i’ve come to know home to be a place of fantasy in our minds

co-dependence making romance out of hurt and fear.

making a routine of

first innoculation

sex, wanting, 

then explosion

perhaps some cleaning

and loneliness

 

Always loneliness.

 

We lay in pieces.

Jagged like what remains in our mouths.

 

If salvation is true. . .

if it can be really done

without complete removal

. . . then it requires mutation

and the development of superpowers.

 

i know what powers is

i harness them daily to endure

to save every life but my own

perverse

like religion

and just as contradictory 

the ability to heal worlds with loving smiles

while still unable to chew

 

i continue biting down

with hope

working on steps

and moving muscles men rarely see.

 

 

 

 

coming out

bein’ born a soft boy made things sometimes unpleasant
in secret ah held parties
“down there” gatherings of fellows lookin’ ta explore wat pleasure can be found
in giving throat
in public ah picked flowers
amid taunts an’ slaps
mah chest a target fo firing squads
mah speech in question
ah heard “man up” before it made any sense.

wat is man feelin’s
an wat about a world dat creates em’
an’ wat will it mean ta have dem seen an’ gone?
wat creature will ah shape den?

patriarchy is de though had eatin cuties while lookin at cuties
it is de thought urging conquest
seeding
an’ breedin’
he demands dat every man be mine
an’ says dat cause him is cute dem him is mine
lak slavery cattle
lak dere beauty is somethin’ dat ah have sole right ta affirm an define
lak all bodies are on auction blocks

when in truth, de fact dat all bodies is beautiful has little ta do wid me
de just are
till spirit makes em’ otherwise
an all bodies belong only to deyselves.

de taste of dis reminds me of how foul a poison it is.
it sits on mah tongue
an’ everytime ah remember
moodswings an’
spirit calls an’
maddness an’
sirens an’
men cryin’ at me cause a forced charm made dem believe love in me.

addiction
possesses
speaks fo’ itself
it don’t ask permission ta inhabit

ah wonder if mah mother’s tongue felt dis
ah wonder how other hands can hold me- if dey sense affection when it’s dere
. . . wonder if dey smell out de half truths.

sugar is a kind of meth
lak gossip
lak sex
lak money
an’ so is charity
for it distorts
lak
Babylon, an’ mcdonalds,
an’ television
an’ suddenly ah wonder where an’ why ah felt sick

on de second day
ah use to forget de lies of yesterday
de pain of dissappointment breedin’ through self hate
an’ mah body is sucked into itself
clothes don’t fit right
ah scratch
food sucks an’ folk always appear sad

ah am sad
ah want death
perhaps grand,
flowers fot only for goodbye
an’ of course horns

“ah am not sad”- ah write
ah am here, movin’, fallin,
an ah repeatedly come back
ta center, less mahself, holdin succulents as reminders
so as ta never forget dat ah too am immortal- growth is a possibility an’ regeneration a gift.
dis life- all energy an’ imagination
all a glow from sun kisses
all torn histories an’ patched families chosen

ah shake at night
am scared ta sleep sometimes
scared ta reach out fo’ help cause ah hate not havin’ complete control
it feel lak de beggin’ mah granfather warned against.
so ah self soothe wid wat tools ah have
bathe in lavender,
envoke eldars past an’ whisper apologies ta mah body
mah feet bleed blocks till
half grins, violent sex, an’ various dicks is present

addiction holds a pattern of bein’ triggered, speakin’ triggers an’ bein’ triggered

last day.
mah side pains somethin’ slight
an’ ah wish ah could hold dis always
cause forgettin’ de process indicates dat things still yet ta be learned exist
blah
mah days feel incomplete an’ ah day dream
write ferociously

ah can make mah magic material
ah can make mah magic material
ah can make mah magic material
ah can make mah magic material
ah can make mah magic material