I sold myself today.
Came up shot of a reasonable price.
yet and still
Fire and fury
for a stem offering.
Hot shot- a fleeting moment.
Steel horses escaping violently down my throat.
Degradation. Wet inviting.
What is price?
Value or worth?
What is flesh worth on an open market?
What is price worth?
Self worth. Commodity. Fetish.
This submission to longing
has kept my hands from grabbing
an M16, a bottle of whiskey, and
obliterating every life including my own.
is the reason I am dying twice as fast as my brothers.
Be it by the bullet or spoiled seed.
I belong to a select few.
Those left dancing red
in the avenue lights
on crushed cans.
on exposed hope. . .
I will always be there
in the corner of family photos-
performing my duties in silence.
Begging acknowledgment or death.
Begging some reprieve from the monotony of sorrow.
in mortal hands
opulence is material.
accomplishment- is a burning ambition
made real through calloused hands.
the trembling clay of creation.
given chance genesis.
the measure of a man
is inches. . .
miles. . .
pride. . .
legacy. . .
we create measure.
must create it in self
or do nothing.
wake up. brush teeth.
gut tight. urge here.
hurt knee. soft boy.
new hurt. harm done.
lay down. dream love.
gut tight. can’t sleep.
urge here. new john.
teeth pressed. one falls.
no time. missed call.
missed meal. tug sex.
health check. day dream.
check in. more pills.
day three. sleep now.
slow start. dry skin.
long bath. more food.
call mom. work now.
time spent. dimes made.
harsh speak. clock out.
soft boy. stomach tight.
urge here. skin dry.
lakeside. dried tears.
new poem. old pain.
old pain. walk town.
home now. rest boy.
phone call. urge here.
choose now. he speaks.
lay down. move on.
wish peace. brown child.
wake up. work again.
push through. long day.
long day. eat meal.
eat meal. eat meal.
heal up. warm hands.
wax dry. wick lit.
place fruit. be still.
breathe deep. breathe out.
love speaks. from self.
shape self. know love.
up to the forearm
immersed in thoughts of becoming salt.
a river to ford.
bridges to foreign territories
are built through half verses.
and the remains of all things considered.
We give our ambitions to the sea
should they find arousal.
should their infant formings find legs.
should moon cast light
and rise tide
transforming powerlessness into hope.
No one wants to die that way.
Caught between the notions of practical concern and real terror.
His body was an experiment, fertile.
Made ripe through melanin.
His body was carted over every middle passage,
over every needle thermometer- red.
The continent has lost a great many to this crisis.
And the few valid voices are given
to missionaries turned martyr.
The modern day saint is a pale faced news short.
An Oklahoma native,
destined for darker lands.
Lucifer is epidemic.
And our bones have become less visible
Our bones have become less visible
Our bones have become less visible.
Golgotha is no physical location
. . . is no moral lesson to be posited to the willing and the listening.
Jesus was blood
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
that the unrest in our spirits
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
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
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
an care of
in truth ah wanted ta be seen past nail polish,
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.
skin is contraband.
an’ spiritual ground.
ah should have used mah vision
ta see wat game dis was.
an opted out.
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.