Laugh it off.

Hiding behind jokes of the
Does it make it easier to be part of the problem?
Do you somehow feel less alone
When you look out at who has the power in this country
And you kiss their ass,
Lick their balls?

If I didn’t hate you so much
This poem would be far better
If I can only write one story
One fuck you
To make you understand
The damage you pass off

Spreading like seeds of intolerance
Like dandruff falling from your brain
Onto your shoulders
And from your shoulders
Onto the starving crowds of peasants
So far beneath you
Feeding off your seamless
Heaps of bullshit.

Joanie don’t love Chachi

I’m going to write a poem
Because the love flows faster than blood
Because the love drains faster than blood
Because the passion is electric spasms of anger and squeezing palms
Solid fists

Because fleeting is fleeting is fleeting is fleeting
Has passed.
Because if I could freeze that smile I would

Because a better person is something I’ve never been
Because each moment is a collaboration
A collage of reality and pictures of you
Thank you for burning the image into my skull

To break a meeting gaze
The only affection you can afford.

Corrosive Concern

Now she is concerned

Breaking me down
Peeling back layers

A fire in the rain forest
Ravaging, pillaging

A tree remains
The sun shining through green
Fluorescent leafs
Pictures of lost children pinned to the oak
And guitar lessons
From old
Sexual predators

The last of its species

Now the fire stops by
“Are you alright?”

Even the words are hot
A plastic leaf falls
And crumples in the flame
Toxic vapors emitting

What words are there to say?
Giving mercy, after there is none left to give mercy to

After this genocide
Thank you for your kindness
Thank you for your bountiful love.

I’ve never had a friend quite as noble as you.
To break me, torn glass in the gutter
No one has ever been so good to me

To pick up a piece of that glass
Cradle it in your palm
And ask “do you know how we love you?”

I know not of something that can hurt you enough
To be a valid response.


It’s only in the mirrors that I see ghosts
The image shrouded by shadows

When it started
Surreptitious spirit blending into the background

Spending back word days
Peering into the mirror

Gradually it grew near
My reflection drained as it rose in stature
First it stood with a hand on my shoulder

Like I was
Someone for him to mentor,
to mark

In this instant, I can see it in me
My eyes are bushed and bitter

Eyes I’ve never known
A carnage of my character

A cleaving of my humanity
Check the reflected corners
Giving up
The feeling of smashing a fist through the computer screen
And jumping over the edge

The feeling of inadequacy
Like you’ve ascended thousands of feet
But looking up you realize

You’ve only just started.

Under the Muzzle

Is that how you see me?
On hands and bended knee.
Would you rather have your Mercedes
than this old sled dog
Calling out to be free?

When you read those fairy tales
At such a tender age
did the room at the top of the tower
directly translate to kennel?
Is a fair maiden
Man’s best friend?

Could the idea
that your own mother
differs from cerberus
be so ground breaking.

Could a thought
hold more content
than a bark
or a growl?

Or will the leash remain
like a noose forever tightening
a noose of sexualization
and breeding.

Only when a dog bites
is it a dog.
When an underdog bites back
it is a bitch
So is it a complaint
or a compliment?

The Female Market

Thank you
Eye lining strippers

Touch me
Fuck me
You’ll be my server

Have a nice day
You’ll be genuine, loving
Sexually addicted,
As long as I pay

Big, Fast Cars
Orange women
The margarita at the bar

Big Guns
Big knives
Tools of the
slave trade

Tired Wind

A Mosquito bit me on the ass today
Used the capillary force
To drain all of the reason from man

I am more of a branch now
Waving in the wind
Uprooted and bendable
Skin and bones
Until he sucks out the marrow
And I break
Then just skin.

Paper giants stand
Propped against sticks of ego
And readied fists

Paper soldiers
With a will
As heated as guns,
Ready to make
Their mothers
Their countries

Clean Caucasian Hands Type, Type, Type

I don’t have the powder
To blow the lid off
And scalp like Indians
Search through the pink pudding
For one of the keys
Tempting, mouth watering

I don’t have the power
I once had
The army of cotton pickers
And backs carved
Like a cutting board

Like a river flowing backwards
Towards the rape
And demise
Of the poor white woman

Like The Birth of a Nation
our topics our issues our third degree burn buttons
things in life that make us ripe with disgust

Ready to pull the trigger
Ready to live in the Negro penitentiaries
Ready to spit on the white judge, with the white prosecution, with the white defendant, with the white jury.
With the white government, with the white neighborhoods, the white institutions.
The white words we speak,
The white steps we take,
The white actions we make

The best story ever written is of a child being born
Living until they can read
And committing suicide

Tis the next great American novel
Overwhelmed and apathetic
Ready to give up

Like ready to accept the face value if marked with a low enough price tag
A pitiful white price tag
The highest of negro price tags

Like In God We Trust
Like the fall of democracy
Like the status Quo
Is maintained through legislations decisions
to protecting your right
to lynch
with bullets
and not get your hands

One good one.

I want to become a poet
So I can write one good one
On paper better than the poem itself

Show the girls with the glazed look
And the slack jaw
And have sex for the rest of my life

I want to write one good poem
And when the critics and scholars
Crucify me
They’ll have to choke past a wadded piece
Of jagged literature first

To show my family
What a PHD in words and letters can do.
I want one good poem.

The Sermon of Christ

I have something to say
Words to flow from the lips
Like red wine in the gullet
The blood of Christ

I have new lands to conquer
Achievements to conspire
The boldest of moves to make
The manifest destiny
Of poetry

Tearing down the house
And building a new foundation
Raping the earth and God’s creation
In His holy name

The children beaten, maimed
The bull brandished, bruised
Can never be tamed
The indecency inspired by name