has the temperament of high waves,
the character of raging winds
it can read the bones of the sky
it can be as quiet as unused ovens or
as the light over the hills after the storm

a woman's passion invents new remedies
but no desperate religion of salvation
for the curse of being bodies full of time.
it doesn't accuse you of the insolence of being yourself
no need to use blood metaphors in this poem
cause a woman's passion simply moves the air in your blood
so effortlessly that all you might want is run away and
die again and again

"I'm not able to rid myself of my self."  Herve Guibert

days alienated from nights,
from the magnitude of their roots
in the absence of your touch
electric love poems on the tip of your tongue
an electric symetry seems to surface in me today
in the doorway

I surrender to the nascent desire and glance into
the protocol of impulse, the chemistry of freedom inhaled
energetic transference from your skin onto mine
a cave woman deeper than me insists to dress me
in your unknown selves since
I have nothing else to undress, like a wound

I was Black yesterday. Blackity, Black, Black, Black…
On my way to work, with my ***** hair stenciled to my Crown.
I was Breathing like Air was a Birthright
And my shoes slapped the concrete
Like a *****.

Because the Rainbow isn’t Suicide Anymore
I tread where my eagles congregate in perpetual sky-
Above the Ghetto of my familiar rivals...
Soaring in the Raiment
Of a Particular Sun that never casts a Shadow
Where my Brown Eyes kneel.
I see the Light… and unleashed, I strut like a phantom-
Your equal in all things…

However suspect,
When bombs go off
at point blank
range

Invisible to Cabbies.

I knew it wouldn't end in fire;
We burned
Too fast, too enjoyably, to suffocate
In flames.

I found the scab, the source,
Small and round and secret.
Incapable of leaving it to heal, I finger the edges
Nervously until the blood flows
Cold and jealous and foreign and unforgiving and slow.

A tipping point we can't reverse out of,
We're frozen on the event horizon,
Empty like the air in February,
The oxygen burned out from our explosion.

I am only left with regret and this
Sense, clear and dry and freezing, that I've walked
Too far north and lost the sun,
Though clouds still part in the distance and wave
Toward the open spaces
With fingers unfurling in unnatural curls.

I claw back to calm from
Calamity and speak, knowing I have listened
Too deeply to words meant for other ears - words that do not tell
Me what to say in return - I am raw.

I stand at the edge of mercy,
Abrupt in my humanity,
Suddenly losing feeling in my toes.

and invited the moon into the
room – a stranger, she stole
through the night to our chambers,
a bevy of damsels to carry her candles.
She lit up our eyes; she lit up our skin
like our skin was the sky.

a blazing eyed girl,
fueled by her love's ardor,
cool it by a smile!

Winter nights are the cruelest,
sound of incessantly falling ice,
disturbs.It accumulates,
on the foliages above,
slide,
       and fall
             on the earth
                           with a
                                      thud.
   I am sweating tears,
my heart bleeds; a pain-
I can't share with anyone,
as you aren't near.
*My heart develops a hole,
                        I peer inside,
and see you
               sit there perplexed!

lie with me
until the moon says it's last goodbye
and the sun peeks his head up
hoping to catch his lover before she leaves
then lie with me longer

kiss me
like the wave kisses the beach
drawing in then drawing out
never ending their dance
then kiss me longer

hold me
as the earth holds the tree
never letting go
even through the roughest storm
then hold me harder

love me
with the passion of a thousand summer thunderstorms
a mix of every emotion
fighting for dominance
then love me *harder

I have become a man of habits.
Alarms wake me, coffee and toast.
Gym, morning texts,
messages to my monkey.

The crow knows no habits
Hunts and gathers, watches for prey
Does habit call for the roost of murders?
I know less than little.

I have become my habits.
Birds, birds, birds.
I'd do anything for her smile.
Whiskey breath and soft kisses are my
prayers offered to the night,
or day.
Feast solely on the moon and
you will not receive sustenance.  

The past is certain, and so it becomes my future.
So too, is it certain, that I will relive my past mistakes?

Questions without answers.
My habit.
The lord gave me the intellect to question,
but saw fit to withhold the courage needed to answer.
Providence only moves when you do.