Throwing color to page

crossing paths, carressing boundary

soil and parfum, woodblock and ink,

I envoke lavender, pool saliva in hand

Digestif, stiffing, loosening and coroding

Hyacinthus in hand, help me Apollo

I am wilting into my own carriage in hand

Swans carry me, lakeside

so I may bathe in light

both high and low tide

Leaking all over

What is on mind may be in heart

So, I, throw, color, to, page

The first time ever I saw

Your face

Clear, quiet, like the window before Us

Like My passion for sound

Like Your passion for light

Our passion pooled together and leaked from eyes

These tears, a salt I was familiar with

Sunk, drunk in the middle of the night

We pass our traumas back and forth

We call Each Other opposite, and bow under

the gaze of Others

But there’s something in the way You are

Hard to bind to language, My tongue does jumping jacks

but cannot curl tendril nor tenticle to the syllable

I need to tame Our relationship

But it flutters, and flashes, quarklike

indeed, friction is needed to be sparklike

I have little faith in words but oceans

of faith in You.

The Saint remains

and I open for these

Wild Flowers; Shame, Misery, Rejection, Fear

Sensory, sensible, across infinity: across the Universe with You ~

For Jacob – I see you, and I love you.

Because We Don’t Have Each Other

I don’t 

want to stand out

because I’m black

but I want to belong

in color

I don’t know what it means

to me

to be a coal

fractal, soul

full of sunlight

fists in air, but

it’s too much pressure

to be the only gate you have

into these prism-prisons

you call ethnicities

I guess it’s fair

brown skin, and untamable hair

not a magnet for moisture

but I can bear it

the weight of

misunderstanding falls on

all who wish to take

up

space

Black is hungry

solitude gives no solace

In our slumber we

call out for the dark side

of the moon – and deep

berries, Miles Davis, Nina Simone

to bury in our bellies and

Roll out of bed

still free

But empty

I don’t

want to stand in

your way of painting

your face but, it’s your big

pink eraser

I fear, I’ve lost

touch with 

the culture

my ancestors - part

blue-collars, black-necks,

white-teeth, red-flecks,

soft heart, loud rhyme,

join the army, the navy, or do

Time

is

up

To take up space is

it really enough

How many sides are

there in this war

with the past; I’m tired of

protest songs, they keep

telling me what to do

Rain Dance

i feel a landscape in my chest

i feel your breath deep into my heart

i see your hair a soft silky nest

we’ll have to end before we start

you touch my legs: be it, for the best

we lean back just to rest

feast your lips upon the decay

for i’ll know not what to say

we’ll have to end before we start

the future is a heavy price to pay

asphalt beaten

and morning dew

troubles sweetened

bring the truest blooms

so let’s water each other like plants

use the softest soil you have

the rain is all

so strike my heart with lightning

to be danced by you

that is my wish

taking a chance for you

orchids, organs, flying fish

let’s race up the mountain

see who’ll touch sky first

let’s race back down

hear us, quench our thirst

there will come soft change

a history of pain

close your wounds

grow around it

grow

Ode To Be

oh to hear the sound of diligence

falling water over skin

oh to smell breath of intention

flowering and steeping in air

oh to fold passion in letters

hiding cologne, nectar, saccarine poetry

page after page, text after text

oh to be unabashed and welcome

more and more mirrors

I see you

and oh to collect sibling spirit

hand in hand without plan or divine

intervention

friendship of the fish praying with fins

we are this openness

an ode to each other

can you hear it?

oh to pool in agony, bloodshot eyes

recognizing the synchronicity, symphonic

I see you

oh to be a brush, cateye, winged tips

of night-filled clubs

oh to go Gaga and go ghost, gravely

with heartfelt goodbyes

I still

see you

oh

to see you

oh to recognize the shades, trajectory,

lines, boundaries, boundless Neptune

with heart on fire

I see you

an Ode To Be

November

Gluttony swarms my stomach

a hundred a thousand a fillion worms

nestling bursting birthing themselves

dusting shelves of what I remember being

How could you

Now books are dropping like flies

From the wall

don’t know to whom these words belong

Come claim your prize

My dignity my burrowing pride

YES it’s my strength you’re reading

it’s depleting now nourishing dirt

Fertile if only for a morning

I can’t fill my gut with anything more

The moths glittering in me are drowning

So, sea-section them out in out in

Close suture and stitch with creeping vines

Take me

Seriously

Or, consume me

‘fore I consume myself a frantic pire

for Black Is A Hungry Color

Hunter’s Moon 2019

zoom out

spot the patterns

I am prime

No is complete

I choose 

serendipity

over plots, however 

L’uomo Vitruviano bows

his golden ratio to my feet

donotbelieveinbrokenliesnotintokenties

shuddering trees

orhappygoodbyes

When foot falls atop pavement, 

even the wind, Lent et d é tach é

smells of Air de l’ordre,

spilling it’s golden ratio out

stuttering palimpsest of 

humane ‘vestigates

I do believe in Rituals

But I also believe in accidents

like La Mer

or φillo,,,,… perfectly crumby

blooming flour on a plate

the spiraling dreams you see

staring back up, Narcissus

in your coffee cup

but which point is node

and which is zenith?

O, o, narkao, narkao

Leave me to the daffodils…

Hello? Who’s there?

Who’s there?

the Sum of my heat

Open air

I cannot open myself

I cannot close

We lost our luggage

in the place no one goes

to find trinity,

unity

A whole rose-bush, peeling

revealing rotted roots of the family tree

Intention

Inside the pen

wrapped in veins

a pink truth laps 

up

a passionate haze.

This strange instrument

Settling into bed, back to front

train cars calling pridefully from dusk covers

The railway signals, stars on my knee bloodied by

fatherhood and healing

Your breath blossoms, clarity on my back

and I cannot tell if your kisses are muscle memory

acting on your heart’s accord

Like music I try to set free from this strange

instrument, my body

I can’t seem to give that to you lately

intimacy and tenderness are old friends,

contacts I seem to have ripped up and forgotten

Like fire I try to put out by blowing harder

on cinders

I want to grow with you, but I think of people

as faces in the bathroom mirror

Fogginess is an excuse to touch them, 

dimness is to shine my light brighter,

When I look and don’t see anyone on the other side, it’s hard to say whether I want anyone there

or if I wish

for once in this God damn life

that I would appear, instead of these strange strangers

These thorny humans

All I see in the mirror is a pupil, too stubborn to open itself

and let some fucking light in

I only feel comfortable when I’m shedding my leaves

Love and Anger, Beside the Burning Bush

One, covered in glitter like

dust, is ancienne. Aged. Cheese

and wine, from countless parties.

Revelry for existence, and how far

we came.

The other, a dance on bare feet.

Tip-toeing around the other,

ever outward. Every whirling dervish

secret that we can’t predict, like nature.

Cosmic, and hungry.

One, dried petals, and a rusty

bike chain. Old freedoms, given

in offering. Burnt auburn sunset

hair, tied back.

The other, moments raging

like the sun which only can spread.

Everything looks still from afar,

yet, you know the sparkle means something

special is brewing. An ocean stews

up a storm, just for you,

you lioness. You firebird.

Keep dancing.