You said the anger would come back just as the love did.
I have a black look I do not like. It is a mask I try on. I migrate toward it and its frog sits on my lips and defecates. It is old. It is also a pauper. I have tried to keep it on a diet. I give it no unction.
There is a good look that I wear like a blood clot. I have sewn it over my left breast. I have made a vocation of it. Lust has taken plant in it and I have placed you and your child at its milk tip.
Oh the blackness is murderous and the milk tip is brimming and each machine is working and I will kiss you when I cut up one dozen new men and you will die somewhat, again and again.
Why is it That I feel different around you In school? I suppose the distance we've gone Struggles we've had They weren't in school They were separate And now I feel odd Not in a bad way When I see you in school.
I wish I could write forever, I wish my thoughts never stopped thinking in rhymes, never stopped counting syllables, never stopped making metaphors. I want to be the poem, I want to be the art.