Everyone loves to talk ****
Poets
Activists
Novelists
Academics
Professors the most

Summon them up
get a consensus

(the kikuyu are a model
not the annoying vermin of the jewish suburb)

Fear is the core.
America,
Fear is yr core.

Capitalism and all its intricacies
and its lies
its imminent failure

(anorexics in red shirts laugh in hell)

Marx and Chomsky
and Precious

Open a window-
crack that-
BREAK OPEN A WINDOW IN THE WALL

let the mist leave
it will only consume you if you learn to use it instead of oxygen

A clear room will be a safe space
to paint
and film
and write
and dry off

To talk a los otros sobre Spanish y la omkeer

If i lay spread eagle upside down will you want me?
Ok fine, take me on my back.

Cheap thrills are still thrills
Are better then lonely nights.

The heater is always on
The airconditioner is always on.

I find a way to make you laugh
so you stay longer.

I find a way to write empty poems
about the ways I will never attempt to ****** you.

Got an idea for a pretty poem?
Hold that thought
while Yung Joc finishes plz.

In the barnyard
in the suburbs
Blacktop recess was the best recess
cos we were kettled together

90s nostalgia is limited to lame t.v shows

why don't no one talk about the wet overcast no more?

I grew up in a place that is America in a shell:
We recognize them
We accept it
We evolve into beasts.

It's progress, it's experimenting, ya know?

There was, there is (she's employed still)
a ogre like creature
She worked in an office
She was responsible for guiding me and you to Zion
We entrusted her not with respect
Not with love
but with hugs and chit chats during lunch period.

They thought we were friends
and at some point along the way
We became friends.

There was a fellow that was kicked
and kicked
and kicked
again he was the pimple of Jackson's tableass.

Our fellow went onto to do like you
unknowingly, it was done knowing there was a time bomb
and school went right on.

We never found out who wrote that on the walls

the one that got away was already gone

He is almost done ticking.

Yr gonna feel like ****.
The dinners, the openings
all don't matter.

The friends the small talk
the bougie dishes
all don't matter.

You know this
and I know this this
is why we are friends.

I make my bed with a spot for you.
Your weight numbs my arm.
You the type of ***** make a ***** hit the gym.

You giggle at my jokes and
you smile and you won't not look at me.
It makes me wrap my next armaround you.

I guess you can call this a hug.
I guess you can call me a python.

You are in my head
not my bed
however,

we fall asleep together and
my right thigh hovers over to your left side.
Tickling iron filaments.

You manage to not break free
you placate me
till 3 and
you open a window.

It's hot.

I held you so tight to keep you
I know you
debate climbing
out that window every night.

The elevation and yellow and horns
once called my name too.

It would be smart to learn
new ways to squeeze you
so you could never leave.

Iem a block of ice.

Faces on facebook
in the crowd
on the day
Lookin for books a bookhole pulls our eyes together

I saw you
aligned.

My eyes cross
it's called
Left Strabismus

My hands and arms are from when i was a swimmer
or a tennis player
or habitual masturbatuor

master
bate
her

am i one of the three?

I am reminded every second that inside i am always in *******

*****

Die.
He goes down to the river
slowly,
the man who he once knew is
tiny fragments of aluminum ribbons
with rubies and jelloshots.

I used roll down these hills as a kid
Andrew and I.
He showed me his **** once
I think
I liked it
I think
Our ***** were open.

He feels compelled
to smack her ***.
Hot pants and red jeggings
jeer him.

The world cannot contain
Weezy.
Nor should it.

He will smack her ***.

I shared with him my plot to save our skinz

"I think I em beginning to understand myself"
i say to him

He gives me a look of

"here dis ***** go again"
he indulges me

I go on and tell him

"What if I destroyed the white race by having *** with every white man"
"A way to reclaim my masculinity is to steal it back from the ones who stole me"

My ***** hang low when I remember that I am surviving as a ***** with no testosterone.

im gonna break it down to you real ****
5:04 PM
then im out
5:04 PM
stop waiting
5:04 PM
and looking
5:04 PM
nothing is there
5:05 PM
but you and like yr body and stuff
5:05 PM
there are pressing things
5:05 PM
i can feel them around you and stuff
5:05 PM
take a breather and stuff
5:05 PM
youre fine and stuff
5:05 PM
stop caring and stuff
5:05 PM
be free and stuff
5:05 PM
it's like that
5:06 PM
you'll get nothing and be empty if you don't make the stuff

I am looking for a place

Single
Male
Darker
Questioning
Price Range: Unemployed
Searching for: the magic puddingyogurt
between yr baby maker and rumpshaker

You will reach a point in yr life.
It will seem final cos you cannot perceive geometry.

You are the wild one!
You coin'd the goose chase!

Don't act
like you don't enjoy Chicken Run

Mel Gibson with a cross can swim in the deepend!

My professor told me to feel
as he slid his hand down my pocket
for charcoal.

He got charcoal.

I got a court summons.

I am like a plane

I read somewhere or heard somewhere
I think on NPR

about what it's like to see the world!
from a plane window.

Imagining is having the sights before you!
from a plane window.

The clouds and the blue blue blue
It's the atmosphere.

Dear God! You're actually flying
Except you're in a whites only plane.

Oh! If only it could be bottled and given to the masses
Ms. Marlowe introduced me to Prometheus.

To search for a way
to have what you imagine in yr dreams and in books and hopes
to be before you
is a ropebridge.

It only snaps in the movies baby!
If you're any different
and it snaps for you,

you got death.
Which is what you wanted all along,

no?

When I was a child my mind was ratchet like a plane in turbulence
it is rickety
the space between Trinidad and Tobago makes me readjust my insides and outsides

Climbing Climbing he shakes and flatlines
He becomes a hero he knew all along

Modern Medicine can make freed slaves become the mothers and fathers of the rice cripsies

I have no
time
for long poems.

Get to the point
You are still
on the
clock

at Whole Foods.

It is so funny how we've cumodifide our sadness.
There was a time where
my mother

and my self
or my responsible father

would ensure that my sadness could be reconciled.

Now I rely on facebook statuses
and online poetry.

It smells like rotting flesh, the cycles do.