He's weird
I love that
But sometimes
I wanna smack him across the face
He likes it
When I wanna smack him across
The face
His favorite sport is "Krista Eye Rolling"
Extra points if he can get them uphill
But the attention is so cute.    , And thoughtful
Albeit, a little gross
He's an oxymoron
Itchy wool, weaved through soft silk
Grossly Cute, softly Uncomfortable, and sticky sweet

walking down park  
amsterdam
or columbus do you ever stop
to think what it looked like
before it was an avenue
did you ever stop to think
what you walked  
before you rode  
subways to the stock  
exchange (we can’t be on
the stock exchange  
we are the stock  
exchanged)


did you ever maybe wonder
what grass was like before  
they rolled it
into a ball and called  
it central park
where syphilitic dogs
and their two-legged tubercular
masters fertilize
the corners and side-walks
ever want to know what would happen
if your life could be fertilized
by a love thought  
from a loved one
who loves you


ever look south
on a clear day and not see
time’s squares but see
tall Birch trees with sycamores  
touching hands
and see gazelles running playfully  
after the lions
ever hear the antelope bark
from the third floor apartment


ever, did you ever, sit down
and wonder about what freedom’s freedom
would bring
it’s so easy to be free
you start by loving yourself  
then those who look like you  
all else will come
naturally


ever wonder why
so much asphalt was laid
in so little space
probably so we would forget  
the Iroquois, Algonquin
and Mohicans who could caress  
the earth


ever think what Harlem would be
like if our herbs and roots and elephant ears  
grew sending
a cacophony of sound to us
the parrot parroting black is beautiful black is beautiful  
owls sending out whooooo’s making love ...  
and me and you just sitting in the sun trying
to find a way to get a banana tree from one of the monkeys  
koala bears in the trees laughing at our listlessness


ever think its possible
for us to be
happy


Nikki Giovanni, “Walking Down Park” from The Selected Poems of Nikki Giovanni. Copyright © 1996 by Nikki Giovanni.

i write because paper
always listens

Some things don't end smoothly.
It's not the slow braking of a car,
A seamless transition from driving to a standstill.
Sometimes you need to slam on.
And it never happens silently,
There's always a screech or a thud or a gasp,
It takes you by surprise and it lurches you forward.
You have to hold on for dear life.
The unexpected nature of it wreaks havoc on your insides;
Butterflies are woken up from your stomach and become nausea.
You check to see if all your limbs are intact, or in fragments.
Then you do the same for your heart,
Searching to see if it went through the windshield
Or if it managed to stay held inside by your unyielding ribs,
Only ever collapsing under the strain of breaths,
Hyperventilating into an airbag.
Some things don't end smoothly.
It's not the steady sigh of relief,
It's the jagged, shaky breaths that never fully extend
In or out, and there's no calming halt afterwards,
Just a process of continuously hitting the brakes.

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