(For Black History Month 1998)


i have a wish
to be profound...
   to be proud and stronger
   and carry myself like the **** poets on Def Jam
voices of Kenya and kings, emblazoned
with wisdom, respected / permanence
tanned in words of Malcolm & Martin's reign...
   to have passions of Nubian queens
   wear a crown to herald my approach
head held high
   without raising a calloused hand,
   copper polished hearts
A presence that only demands simplistic
of silences in the awe, the inspired
unchallenged in my reverence--an African / American ability
   choreography / invention
   the first to dance, when others fear to
to keep it real and say it loud
my human wishes, strong, profound, proud...
sometimes
   gentille...

i wanna be black...
like King Cobra, a hood to umbrella fright
with venom from just my stereotypical sight
   immobilize and paint caucasians whiter
   to be well endowed yet humbly
complicated,
angry but with proven reasons unrequited,
to be singled out by mere appearance
alone, a Halley Berry poster, child - dealing drugs,
   respected yet in the poetry of chains
   creative even in these multi-colored pains
from a thousand lands of strife
music is sister, artistic is brother life
become ingenious
   saxophones in the moody blues,
   athlete of hurtles, jazz / boxing fights / sang...
gold medals, worthy for full frontal
news...

do i amuse you, with these longings?
think do you - it's a cursed delight?
   but life only
   excels with each challenge: our battles
against ignorance / shame defines
the worth we're given
our lot mostly restricted, our lions tamed
perseveres - tho' weep the dust of our ancients names,
and bleeds these,
our cotton soft truths some mistakes
   and Dolby stereotypes revealed
   re-assigned
now worn like brand new:
a garden painted stronger
roots - and robes of shackles' / thorns
sharp with unlocked prejudices
   brown can do no more (for you sir)
   criminal confidences find the unmoving wave of faith
a prominent jaw-line, obelisk-lips
kiss and smack / wet with loving lengths
it is ... no hurt in these earthen eyes
   evident
   stoic, strength, serenity
mine to dance and sing my apathy instead...
about the history, i wish to dis
yes, re-avow
empty empathies before,
   experience my thousands, marching
   Melato’s at the founding fathers' doors, will show
you how to open house
these ghettos of / our violent villages / of tar & soot
shadow our poor ever the more
our stars shine on
   broadway be our stage / Stomps / in the heart, hopes,
   styles rap / songs to battle racial profiles
racial cops in devil blue,
beating brothas, home video tell our news,
while our rich forget the rest
******* **** in their cribs
re-pimped, yes, ******* new money & *****
   of course, they are the talented ...
   almost gods on Apollo / knock on wood...
the music is still
the song still is
the foot is stampeding
the noise will be loud,

i will be proud
i will be profound
   in this time of redefinition,
i will be strong
(i wanna be black) like Etta James
at last...

One hundred to five to one to one
no one
They don't need your apologies
Come around the stand and say that to my eyes
you don't see
They don't crave verdict driven "sorry"s
nailed to a cross by a stone gavel
Burn that haunted cross
As the hearts and souls of the teaming
wish they could do again
trying to stand against definitions of self
definitions of manhood
little girl, only thirty-three years old
silenced in fear, silenced by fear
as the confident voices blow into her ear
1...2...3...4...5
times two
a grip that claims, that yells, that demands
a redefinition to the meaningless phrase
I love you.
Three months--- screams are muffled in horror, quieted verbals
ringing where only one can hear
Seven years---body is sliced by knives as she looks in the mirror
and sees a human hole.
How can you live, how can you say
that you know that everything will be all right with time
Who gets time?
Not ninety-nine thousand
demoralized, demonized, unrecongnized,
set free with a fine, or gone undefined alltogether
as Fear's closet of nails confines a million
ostracized and mortified
unable to band together
thank you judicial priority.
One hundredth of abusers given time
two years later out again
But one hundred-thousand others
hear you tell them
how to heal a womb ***** unsacred,
how to stand against a beast stripped naked,
how to quickly turn a limb placated
before it comes down to bruise her swollen rainbow skin.
And you justify a girl ripped open
entered in agony, her ***** broken
the first time she was eight years old
the hundredth time she was nine.
And you sympathize
as the sad man cries behind the podium
how can you not understand that no means no
no means don't
no means stop
stop means help me.
He understood that
he understood and he disregarded
every being on this rock for his own sick pleasure
I care about you.
he said to himself
Where were you when she got drugged in a bar
Where were you when he was ambushed by orange
Where were you when her husband refused to hear her terrified words
Where were you when they pleaded to anyone
Please please please please, Oh God make it stop
Now where are you behind your news desks, your podiums, your microphones, and your clipboards
when they risk their lives to ask for justice
when they cry out for the safety of their daughters
of your daughters
only so child souls aren't slaughtered
as they are thrown into a system that insists
they are not good enough.
A system of blow-up dolls, of pop songs, of stripper poles
defining a woman as only a hole.
He stole my innocence
You stole my dignity.
You stole my dignity, you stole my daughter's, my granddaughter's, sister's, aunt's, mother's
when you insist that the fix
is covering my body
shielding my ******
and saying no.
No is what I say to you
No is what I say to your apologies, your sympathies, your pities
She shouldn't have to get down on her knees for him
or for you
You say you've seen everything
Maybe you've seen everything
Films, shows, the **** scenes of everything
But you have not experienced everything
And I pray to God
that you have not done everything
But as far as I know, you haven't done anything
And legs and mouth and hearts
will be torn open
as hope is stripped from the holy bodies of the screaming unspoken
over and over and over again
Ninety-nine thousand lives you do deprive
where were you when she died
terrorized when the judge whispered
1...2...3...4----

Fly high,
Know your dreams have wings,
Be an albatross...
Clearing above the blue seas,
Until the curve of the horizon,
Can be bent and seen!

Fly high,
You know you can steer,
Tame the winds...
And break the waves;
Even storms can clear,
Giving way to brighter days;
A new season blooms,
Fear not, nay!

Fly high,
And break off from the hibernation,
See yourself with a redefinition;
Even a single prism,
Gives birth to a spectrum!

It has never been my intension
nor was it ever a bone of contention
to alter or disrupt the social convention
but now is the time to pay close attention
to the decline of the human condition

Responsibility rescinded creating moral decomposition
accountability abandoned causing legal repercussion
right and wrong are muddled in a malicious juxtaposition
public opposition has festered into social imperfection
the omission of tradition by politician’s redefinition


HEED THIS ADMONITION OR ARDENT APPREHENSION
SAGACIOUS SUSPICION AND PERSISTANT PREVENTION


Of the decommission of the Physician, Pediatrician
the Technician, and the Mathematician
and give this acquisition to those with no ambition
even those under suspicion of sedition
or held in detention without fear of restitution

This is the deception of the devolution
of the middle classification
and the total destruction
of American personification
praise the Lord and pass the ammunition

regarding parmeßan cheese (in italian): well, you don't really say iguana.

a culinary redefinition, notable when seasoning
delicate side-dishes,
   like mash-potatoes, invoking seasoning akin
to smoked paprika or some bbq powder...
the original term? e.g. a *pinch of salt...
well, a pinch regards more
of the actual act of cooking...
what i wanted was a "spell"
regarding the palette once the food
is cooked and then ready on the plate
to be consumed...
   i had to redefine pinch
with a word more refined...
indeed, it popped into my mind
just now - a hint of whatever
seasoning has been added
to a delicate side-dish.
delicate?
          quiet frankly:
quite bland if not improved.

on another note though...
on today's menu?
    creamy-tomato bacon pasta...
and what is the hint going
to be? oregano...
   diacritical improvement
to sound hearty, soulful akin
to italian?
   óregáno -
  but unlike the orthodox use
of the acute vowel
   in polish, where the use
is more of an orthographic
utility (aesthetic)
  replacing a U...
         i.e. / e.g.
   attempt:
                   próba...
     not pruba...
         you say the word in
the same way...
            but the orthographic
aesthetic dictates you write
the former, rather than
the latter...
  another e.g.
         ****:
                      huj
    rather than
                                   hój...
but in phonetic terms when trying
to sound more passionate italian
concerning ingredients for
a culinary adventure...
   i think the acute O can break from
slavic orthographic constraints...
      nurse, once again,
pass me the diacritical scalpel -
   óregáno! pancétta! mascarpóne!
                        ( ch ) |    parmígiáno! (zia zia)
                            c    |    (******* cheated
                            a    | whereby g becomes z)
                            p
                            p
  ­                          u
                            c
       ­                     c
                            i
            ­                n
                            o?!

p.s.
    rule.­.. you can't finish a word
   with a diacritical vowel...
  the tetragrammaton rule states that
the H already allows a vowel to exfoliate
into a stress-state...
                  but such instaces allow
  a niqab "decency" of the vowel to cover
itself, and not expose a diacritical
high-heel and nice little number:
   a tight red dress of acute stare
by the reader.

I turn and look at you
And I speak my peace, urging you to leave all you secondary notions at the door
Patiently waiting at the turn style for some one who I know will never show up
Because he is already here
He is me
He is everyone
A genius

Another futuristic constructuralist
Studying equations
Where the answers lies in eternal joy
The difficulty to burn and the ease to understand

Only separated by patience and time
Overthrown and renewed
Refurbished
Barking dogs crafted from jade kissing your palms, bursting through parlor doors smoking on a long stemmed pipe
Writing in blood with a raven-wood quill

And a distraught agonizing yelp echoes in the library
Denouncing the existence of love
Brining what is mistaken as such to surface
Gain, satisfaction, self esteem and companionship
Love is up for redefinition

Bargains and betrayal
Vacations in plains never explored
Taking trains filled with ridiculous faces
Stark raving madness with clarity
Disapproval of sonnets of old that now in the new age are no longer suitable for the forward thinking minds
Necessary brashness
Eminent affection
Everlasting adoration of the suns embrace

Envision the acceleration
Of your heart and mind
As the truth is delivered
Upon you, replacing
Your salvation with a
Glimmer of thought
To inspire you to
Reimagine an existence
Without the excess of a god.
Time, energy, and motion
Becoming interwoven as you
Refocus on a new existence
Where you don't *******
Squander away your time
Worshipping false idols
Warning you against
Worshipping false idols.
When armed with a thought,
The creation of a
Revised world isn't
Such a foreign concept,
But an attainable reality.
Strive for a redefinition
Of the corrupt system
For in action, change
Can be forced on
The unwilling establishment.
Abandon the petty squabbles,
Brother against brother
Over an imagined salvation
Leading only to extermination.
Realign your thought process
And adjust to a world where
Brother allied with brother
Fight for the freedom
From class division,
From monetary idealism,
And from religious ideology  
Picture an existence
Where we no longer divide
But combine to form
A unification
Of revolution.

It’s gonna be a long, long road* / with too many minds / too straight and too narrow, / narrow.  / I know that together we are a big ship to turn, / and it happens slowly, one heart at a time, / but I am convinced / that we can either cut through these waves of change coming our way / to timeless truth and changeless grace / or be swept away by the currents.

I know that culture tells us we need to pick a side, / to claim the ground beneath our feet and fight, / but I refuse to believe that people are my enemies. / This is not a war of flesh and blood, / but of powers and principalities. / How long will we continue to point the finger / and fail to take our own hearts into account? / I believe we are being deceived / by this mess inside our chests.

I know that I am a prodigal son, / and I like to tell myself I’ve had my fill of filth / but the desires haven’t gone away. / I know the feeling of going to bed every night, / thinking “God above, no.  Amen,” / the name of Jesus too painful to speak, or / sobbing in the basement of a coffee shop, / praying, “All I want is one kiss!” / A kiss on the cheek, / a kiss on the lips.

But I know / that to this day I’m living with my Father / because he’s constantly convincing me to stay, / singing, “You are my son; / you are not my slave. / You are not my slave.” / And it’s uncomfortable, / but I’ve learned the secret of facing comfort and pain, / abundance and need; it’s Christ, / who makes a home out of me / when none of my homes feel right. / God, you are my hiding place and not this closet / or these secrets! / I’m resting underneath the shadow of your wings / and not the dark, looming clouds of fear!

I know that I want this word / tattooed in black ink on my heart: abide. / I in him, he in me, / because I desperately need it to be true. / It’s the thought that will be endlessly written  through my life like poetry. / Every rhythm of life, / every half or perfect rhyme, / every break / at the end of a line / is according to the purpose of a Master Poet.

I know that English only goes so far, / and so grace will be my second language; / every word pronounced by this flaming tongue / will be from divine vocabulary, / redemption and redefinition. / My eyes will be open, and yet my arms will be open; / my heart will be open, and this, / this will be my proclamation: / “Orientation / is a beautiful word, / it means not where you are, / but the way you’re facing.”

I know / it’s gonna be a long, long road, / and though I am weak / still I will follow, / follow.

I’ve stood on the corner and slow danced with death..
Held it’s chilly hand and took a deep breath of stress..
The cold street seemed to even heave a heavy breath..
It’s weight falling and freezing in layers upon my chest..
Everything was wrong, I could feel the need to progress..
Sick of flippin’ bags, ***** deeds, and all the rest..
Hoppin’ from bar to bar, wakin’ up feelin’ like a ****** mess..  
Out to party hard, chance the odds and do it all to impress..
But I woke up one morning and knew for sure that I’d digressed..
I’d found a fool in the mirror an all the sudden the facts coalesced..

I needed an out, a place to go, to soul search, a personal expedition..
All I had to find was a suitable place to make the transition..
To shed my filthy skin and leave New York was my only mission..
I had to start the journey that would to bring myself to fruition..
I sold everything I owned and headed to California on intuition..
I stayed in the rut for a minute but finally overcame opposition..
Without a shred of luck, here I am, a straight up redefinition..
I’m cuttin’ everything bad in out my life with surgical precision..
Becoming a free man to follow my life’s greatest ambitions..

49°f on the sunrise, wind in your sails
the coast all calm, my mouth all red
"you want this?" you say, and i kiss you
quick and sunken, teeth like graves
with every inscription an old treaty
international law between the lines
of our coexistence; it is: definition
and redefinition of forces
peaceful conflict, maybe
content desolation

i say to you shining, i say "of course"
i am: the golden boy with a fog on his heart
you are: slimy, so sweet, a snail full of kisses
dismantling the borders of my skin like
a needle, a bug, pure irrationality;
but the sea-breeze sobers
and i know i will be fine
in the stability of your hands
and the love story of your fists

and when i breathe into the sand
i can feel my bruises swell
my scars flutter
the sky burns grey and my thighs
ever pinker; my lips ever more split
and now you hold me like the tide
and i come home with you smiling
52°f on the morn, salt on my face
and i know, i know i will be fine