~                               Im never coming back
                               Why would i anyway
                The way you looked at me and ran away
                         As if your hair was all aflame
                      It made me wish you never came
                         So if your going to run away
                     Just tell me now and go your way

Everything happens for a reason,
Sometimes for a good reason,
Other times...
Not so much.
But from each thing that happens,
You learn.
Each experience we endure,
There is a lesson to be taught.
You can take that lesson to heart,
Or you can completely ignore it.
Its all up to you.
But everything happens for a reason,
So dont dwell,
Dont sorrow,
It will all turn out ok,
In the big picture that is life.

I've tasted black coal

For the first time ever

What a bitter taste

Dry grainy texture

Water makes it worse

I couldnt finish the first lump

Oh how weak i am

My parents made it seem so good

Smile of their faces

Black of demons on their teeth

Its only now i realized

The plain rice

And warm milk

Was a gourmet meal in comparison

They protected me

And i appreciate the weakness I endured through the love of my parent

But for my childs sake

They will taste coal the very first day

Picture me suckling on her elbows, lips enveloping that round lump, teeth scraping up past the skins’ v-fold, you might even want to dress that elbow in dotted pale cerise cotton *******, picture me lapping at her neck, tongue thwapping, spit running down to the corners of the mouth, bright nose pressed firm into the temple, my salacious grin in the wee pit of her eyes,

Yes I am there.
Picture me pawing, growling, climbing up her thin skinny young legs, my junk clambering its way into her grove garden cemetery of Hearse boxes and heart suitcases, where by death nothing grows anymore. Picture heavy, weighty, fleshy flesh tearing to shreds those photos you’ve been keeping of changing diapers in the back of your mind, those pictures on the top of your Steinway, picture me in your picture frames. Picture me I am the perfect imbecilic interstices to incise your pristine sweethearts’ heart, picture me, for I am the beast trammeling your restful sleep. Picture me while I take what I please, picture me as I take and I cleave, fueled by rancor and grief, I am your concerted antithesis of pleas and no’s and pleadings. I am but her best friend till the end. Picture me, woof woof. Picture me.

The Holy Ones


I want to shove socks in my pants, so it looks like I have one of those Italian-line painting *****. I want to do it when I go to the grocery store so fourteen-year olds and thirty-year olds alike stare at my junk as it fills the stitches of my pelvic arena, I want to make eye contact with mothers and grandmothers, brothers and dads as they shift uncomfortably in those handicap battery powered carts that are reserved for the handicapped but are often only used by the near-morbidly obese, near because they’re not quite dead yet, morbid because they can’t help but imagining my **** sliding past their tongue and what it feels like as the tip pushes past their uvula and they gasp for air through their nose because they’ve never had a **** like this in their mouth before. This would be my **** ****. This would have me making lists of adult film star names for film star jobs I’d never take because I’d be busy making lists of phone numbers, the college girls I’d have my pick of *******, and the mothers and grandmothers who I’d be happily turning away from while I select my own organic radishes from the produce department at the specialty market on Vine. This **** is better than a rolled up wrapped stack of hundreds or the leather jacket I had in high school, it’d be better than when I walked down Michigan Ave in Umbro Valentino donning a Parisian accent, I can see me having to buy new briefs just to make room for this ****. And my own **** getting jealous of the girth I’d be faking it’d swell up, and in the middle of ordering my four-pump Vanilla Almond milk Latte from Starbucks my gray wool socks would fall to the floor, and up from the band of my Acne Jeans would bulge the tip, just the tip, like she said when I was in college, or just the tip like I said when I just needed to feel something other than how emotionally wrecked you made me feel when you told me not to touch you anymore. You ****** me up righteously. And still, 380 women later, I’m ****** up and I don’t have a single pair of socks to wear

I loved you.
Keyword:
loved.
Past tense.
I used to love
you, that is the
conclusion I have
drawn.
But just like the
love I had for you
then,
you are also no
longer apart of me.

You blend with shadows*
          And the cracks in sidewalks
                Brittle grime trickling down your hand
       You catch each bit between forefinger and thumb
    And turn them all into tiny broken men
           Stench streaming in smoke like ribbons
               Your skin is icicle cold
      But the smell ignites the sensory fears of those you draw close
Shattered skull love songs emit from your bones
    Calling all sinners to you to atone

You are the blackest person I know.
Not black by skin tone,
     **BUT BLACK BY SOUL.