I hauled clay
for days
to fill the deep
washout of our love
and all your old loves
who bled to death
too, I even searched
the cold evenings
of your eyes
and ran my fingers
through your moonlight
while tasting the blood
of strangers on your lips
but I would have
to have a backhoe
and a crowbar
to finally get down
to the heart
of the matter at night
and in the rain
though I'm afraid
I would only find
a deep dark cave
with blind starfish
like those I see
swimming in
the cold sky tonight.

You were more then just a companion
More then just a pet
You're more then a dog
That walked on four legs
You're family
And the memory's you made with us will never fade
From being taught to
Sit
Lay
And stay
Now it's time for you to go away
And we're all happy you're not going in a horrifying way
But in peace  
And writing this is the least
I can do
To show you'll forever be missed
So for one last time
Sit
Lay
And stay

gold, round
it has felt a thousand hands
in sixty years

tomorrow it will be
replaced, the dead door
along with it

the old brass globe
knows nothing of gentrification;
its desecration of memory:

the carpenter who bore its hole
the first child to turn the **** to play;
the last man to yank it in anger

when he felt the bowels of defeat,
the bane of bankruptcy--the effluent epiphany
of eviction

how many tales began with
the spinning of the circle, the opening
of the door, letting in the light

tomorrow, and tomorrow, the door,
the handle, will rest in the landfill, the
graveyard of myriad doorknobs

all with their own stories of auspicious
beginnings, mysterious twists and turns--
plots thickened by the hands of time

From time to time
I feel blue
and cook my own stew.
Its bland and
taste good enough
for my stomach.

I knew from the start
that my cooking
isn't really that great
nor it's appetising.
Atleast
my milk is
sweet.
I'm not fond of sodas
dislike the fact that
it boils my
stomach.

Food, for now
they're within
reach, though
must someday
will come -
starvation is
inevitable

Can you feel the ache in my chest?
Can you touch the cracks in my heart?
Can you tell where my soul begins,
And where it's been torn all apart?

I'm made of sharp edges and pieces fit with super glue
Can you feel it?
I'm a heartless enigma and a soulless slice of truth
Can you feel it?
Enemies make the best friends and now I hate you
Can you feel it?

Lies are like a bullet to my heart, filling me with holes
A feeling of emptiness overwhelms me, a space too bold
Trying to hold on tight to a tangle too tied to unfold
Lost in a web of pain too damaged to be controlled

I'm made of broken glass, chipped and shattered
Can you feel it?
I'm an empty shell of something that once mattered
Can you feel it?
Pieces are falling, a love now bruised and battered
Can you feel it?

The harmony of injustice is ringing in my ears
A lullaby of sweet nothings and my childhood fears
A common trend unfolds, a chorus of chants and tears
A pain ripples through my body and the monster finally appears

Can you feel it?

Your eyes smoulder with an imagination that is even bolder than I could have dreamed and colder than this toxic air we've been forced to breathe.

You write poetry across your face to form a Gas mask of rythym, blocking out the hate yet sealing in ideas that might frustrate you.

You hear the birds in the trees and you read the articles in every magazine, you take in information like the bees to the Queen.

Your thoughts radiate an aura surrounding your entire body, you bleed history and pop culture facts, you need the written word like an addict needs their cigarette packs.

You're empathetic to your core, you feel what everyone else does so you hide yourself in your mind until you can categorize the emotions from the lies.

I know you can feel the love in your heart even through all the cracks, like a weathered and torn apart roadmap but you're taped together perfectly and even with a few wrong turns you always find your way back to me.

Langston* said what happens
when dreams don't come true:
they fester, stink, or explode

but hell, hear what I say
colored girls ain't got no dreams,
what we got is schemes to make it
from here 'til tomorrow

and we don't drown saggin'
sorrow in gin, or the big H--least ways
not all of us do

it's true, the man done piled
on ****, high as it can be stacked on us
but we don't all ride no pity bus

the streets don't weep for the weak
or those of us who spread our legs to get us
a baby--a toy all our own

cause when he's all grown, he ain't
goin' be there to fill our empty bellies
or make us proud

so go on say it loud:
black girls don't need nobody
show 'em the way

and one day, we goin'
take what's ours--we just don't expect
to reach for no stars

we be fine with settlin'
for someone callin' us by name
and not feelin' no **** shame

Covenant Avenue, Harlem, 1968