Kicked up clouds of confusion
Truth misconstrued
Lies are egregious
But truth has
more manipulative misuses

The skins were sounding,
Plaintiff pounding,
Summoning all to fire.
Charcoal sticks,
Picture graphics,
Recorded our desires.
We flashed lights,
Waved our flags,
Telling all to come.
Lines were laid
Fathoms deep,
Connecting continents
In their sleep,
With window shoppers
On their streets.
Poles were raised
Along our roads,
Life-lines stretched
Like sweater yarn,
Remember we were warned.
We added stars
To our nights,
With lights of red and green;
Geo-centric, like God,
Heard, but never seen.
From drum to satellite,
We've tried but failed,
We can't get it right.

Still toe to toe,
Face to face,
That's how to
Communicate.
Not by a cloud,
Look to the face,
The culminating
Human race.
There's a passion
In one's eyes,
That one
Can't mistake.

In Wexford
I saw Superstar;
An Irish Jesus
That well pleased us,
But you may think that dross.
In retrospect,
We might agree,
They hung long
On that cross.

We live our lives
In past review,
Sometimes we get
A snap preview;
It's what we call
Deja Vu.
Our synoptic
Brain ignites,
Fuel injected,
Bathing grey matter;
Hurling perception
Through time;
Faster than a blink of light,
No more than a nano,
To immediate present.
Then brain relapses,
Returns to stasis,
We're in the past again.
Same peoples,
Same places,
But I was here,
Before.
Never left, now
Back once more.

You only show your face
When it's hidden by the night,
And I seem to be on
An insatiable search
For some sort of sunrise.

There is something
in your presence
that makes me feel
like I am returning home,
as though I've
traced the outline of that sparkling smile,  
                anticipated your kiss,
                        and recognized the whisper of your voice,
long before now.

Instances,
in which we have known each other
                        in some other
                                                 existence.
Ti­mes,
when I am acutely aware
         and can sense
             your disposition, cravings and            
                                        aversions
simply by looking into your eyes, hearing your voice,  
or contemplating your touch.

Our paths in this life,
        of course,
    have simply not allowed this to be          
                                    imaginable.

 But its in those moments,             
serendipitous moments,
           when I feel like
                       I am rediscovering you,
instead of becoming acquainted with the essence of you.

And it makes me wonder.

“Take off your clothes.”

this is a ***** and devoted clan

“I’ll be there,” he said. “Early.”

he is slavery’s plantation overseer. of his medals
he cherishes one

A ***** BOY WHISTLED AT HER AND THEY KILLED HIM

the back of his home is a tool house. they turned south on Mississippi No. 1
there was no moon as they drove. there had been no denial
he’s tired o’ livin’, Chicago Boy, tired o’ sendin’ your kind down here
don’t disapprove enough of them. resist the revolt of colored men
they turned south on Mississippi No. 1. they filled him so full of poison
that he was hopeless

“I’m not afraid of you.”

they included sons, grandsons and a nephew of Moses. his body bears
multiple shrapnel wounds. close range killing “he ain’t got good sense”
nobody was holding him. he was as tough as they were
hypocrisy exposed; myth dispelled
for the first time – the story no jury heard
he looked like a man, Chicago Boy
this is the sum of the facts

A ***** “CHILD” WHISTLED AT HER AND THEY KILLED HIM

he had heard of the trouble. he wanted to go home
dark-visaged, talkin’ mighty big. he staggered under its weight…
dark-visaged, he stood there naked. carried it to the river bank
stand him up there on that bluff. mark him for a coward and a fool
here are the facts
just whip him, Brother, if that won’t scare Chicago Boy
it was Sunday morning, a little before seven.
here, for the first time, I’ll pay you for the damages
they tried dirt and gravel roads, drove along the levee
here for the first time, I didn’t think they’d **** a boy
if that won’t scare Chicago Boy, hell won’t

“You still as good as I am?”

for three hours that morning, there was a fire
I’ll blow your head off, Chicago Boy
pistol whipping bruises more than it cuts
Chicago Boy, Chicago Boy
I’m no bully, Chicago Boy
Brother, whip him, shine the light on down
Brother, the Big River bends around.
the real answer is the remarkable part

“I’m as good as you are.”

seventy-two hours later – eight miles downstream
the half in their fraternity was forgotten.