I got loadbearing feet.
-18 wheeler legs.
drag my demons and devils
in the tanker behind
I stand tall,
Oh this weight.
"She's a good one,"
they'll say,
not understanding
How fast I can leave.
"If you catch her-
there's  cement foundation
under the moss that
grows over her faith."
Hurricane glass in my ocean gray eyes
I've got steel framed thoracic spine
that holds my haul steady.
I tied down my baggage
with bungee and coil.
I've got road ready feet
as there's asphalt that's burning.
I've got weight bearing soul-
and spare beneath the hood,
I've got to keep it moving though
As I'm just passing through.

Sahn
2/9/15

Rotted soul of good intention,
mine is an apple core
on an old black road
in a holy heat.
Sinner, slow down!
Sinner stop your dancing
and start praying
for your people
-mmmyes-
that they start praying
for you
child.
'Cause it's gonna take a churchyard full
of bake sales,
mmmhmm
and it's gonna take a winter full of galoshes by the church door
whoowee,
it's gonna take a village to save you, child.
Heathen, pull your skirt down!
stop them hips swaying left, slooow,
swaying right, sloooow
as you walk down that dirt road kicking up dust
like you was a young colt running.
Oh it's gonna take a lot saving,
Yessum, it's gonna take a lake a dunking...
Oh but Lord! It's gonna take a lot of praying,
Hallelujah, gonna need a lot of rosaries
to save your eternal life, girl
I am as rotten as a pit of peach,
dried and without yield. no value, no good.
Child, it's gonna take a revival to save this soul.
Mama, start that revival and save your babies soul.


sahn
2/6/15

In that,
the tiny pushpins
that invade my clumsy pulse.
In that
I find you
in that-
the electric scarf
I wear around my neck
Insomuch I find
you choke me
so I am not wordless,
I am not without screaming-
dripping and falling from my lips
wrapped like gifts of mortar
more out than in
no I am not wordless.
I see you and tiny electric pulses
dance on me
dice through me
I feel you
touch so perfect
like a violin string
strung-
strung taught
tight against my mouth
tight against you leaving.
I am sensory.
I am sound that bounces angry
I am sound that chisels
the prayers of the prayer wheels
upon the bumps of my spine.
listen, listen
for your footfalls
and you will touch me,
perfect touch
of space and air
and fingertips that have no bones
no skin
just a note on a
cello-of a touch
and a kiss from behind my neck
a strangle,
such the kiss is tight.
tiny electric pulses through me,
oh, love,
for the tiny electric pulses
that bounce through,
move me.
prayers on the prayer wheel
spinning.
sahn 01/22/15

i lay down my
vanities
like
oranges
at the altar.
i pour out my
pride like water
from the Krishna-
sodden ribbon of faith
runs around and over and
through your hands
and i lay down my
face on your lap
and i lay down my face
on your map of the world
and the oceans whisper under my ear
and the future
is a boxer inside of your chest
throwing fist-
bom, bom
after fist-
bom bom
at the shadows on the wall.
and i lay my faces down
all five of them-
six of them.
and i lay them down to
be eaten by the dogs.
while they chew merry on my
presentations, my false introductions.
i look to the night sky of your face
and it looks like it may rain.
sorrow rain. snowflake fractals falling on my
cheek-
great rivers of regret and sorrow
and restraint.
i look up
Rigel Kentaurus
is shining from somewhere deep inside.
and i find you, and i find my way
around the black hole
inside you and i move swift around the comet that is me.
fire, fire, pieces of planets and fire
fiercely forcing it's way through the universes until
i finally hit
a force stronger than i.
i shed my clothes.
as naked is the eyes that see me, true.
i shed my pride.
as forgiving is the soul that nurtures.
i wear your adoration like cherry blossoms blooming
i wear your eyes, i take them from you
to see me,
to see me
and i do not disappoint. i am naked and beautiful and modest
just as you said i would be.
beautiful vessel
the Gods choose well,
so i lay my silks and finery at your feet.
blossoms in the sacrificial bowl.
let me lay, just a little longer,
on your lap that is the world
let me lay here
while your hand of the softest gossimer fingertips
rides the bumps in my spine.
let me find myself in your lush silence
and in this divine be forgiven-
oh! That I find myself forgiven.

sahn
1/19/2015

I want each step to land my foot
tangled heather
ash and soot.
And lead to where the wicked go...
where the darling schoolgirls know
when to turn with redden hue
gasping their  intact virtue.
Yet I long my footfall down-
mossy sinfully buoyant ground.
Run to meet him by the stone
kiss him on it's granite bones.
And he'll swing me wide with wonder
pirate, he'll be, ravage. plunder.
I go where all the good girls shant.
all my christian vows recant.
Yes I will meet him by the river

and onward I keep
through the creeping myrtle, creep-
and the sinners sandbox
and painted ladies swings
(where I rest my chastity case)
that's covered in leather and ******* with lace.
Delight  
as I watch good girls gasp-
as I swing wide hips, wide.
Thier ****** ******* clasps.
And that night will give birth
to a wretched new way
I am wanton
and crafty
and
unwelcome at tables-where ladies
demure
and insist on "no more!"
and
need polite conversations
to endless relations.
I'll roar down that path
like a thundering herd,
like an air stream that carries the weariest bird.
I'm curved, I'm pillowed.
I'm chest out.
I'm willowed...
I'll have holes in my souls
all four of them dotted.
Or six of them spotted?
Like a cat's lives they'll feed
so that reaper, recedes.
It's this path, though, you see them?
The Glories
majestic.
Twined up the tree trunk
and my heart is arrested.
I'm put in the mind of those
sinewy women
and sin
comes in scent
where that glory blooms nightly
and clasp hold of
these moments
of recklessness tightly.

Sahn 1/12/2015

Temper-
now, now, there. He is
man of raging waters-
ease flees  his body
Like birds spooked by passing train.
Time and truths drag down his shoulders as
He walks his well-worn path to
Earn his well-worn dollar.
His arms limp to pick the tempest bottle
That fill his flaccid faith with the warmth of a hundred singing choirs.
Temper, now - hallelujah, hallelujah
He fills his cup - king of kings-
and pours it down the funnel of his spine,
And like the clown that blows up balloon animals
He blows up a lion
blows up a fighting ****-
He blows himself up into hope-into happy.
Temper man, mine,
I am branches of his trees
Snapping in the sudden gale
The storm that brews beneath his feet.
I am what he preserves -
what he destroys
Makes me like one of his castles
That
drip-drop
drip -drop
rise in the sand
I rise, towers blossom fragile
Queen of Drip-drop Land
- temper man watches it all wash away
I am sullen and silent and stirring
His madness alive
as he tangos with electrified demons on the beach where I puddle.
Oh how tiring it all is,
And he'll wake to drag his medal with him
As he walks the dusty road to clutch his dusty dollar
So he may do it all again.


Shan 01/05/15

Over a steaming cup of soup
over a frosty mug of ale.
Over and over
I've seen those eyes
peer and
peek
and absorb and dart
and deceive.
Over the black and white tattler.
over the child's cartoons.
I've seen those eyes twinkle
and the sides of them
crinkle and the lines
that have grown little by little
like a map of small creeks.
Over a mountain of colorful bills,
over the worn Ulysses
you've
tried
to read
for years.
I've seen your eyes wander and water,
close gently like leaves falling -
zigzag to the ground.
Bang shut fierce, like an old Italian closing the shutters.
Over certificates
and instructions
and declarations.
Over pots of soup
or stews or rice.
I've seen those eyes.
More my eyes than they are yours
as I have loved them a million times
and I have searched for them through seas of faces-
and always light a lighthouse, find them
and through those eyes
a young woman glows.
Not the tired and weary woman I am.
Behind a latte's steam
he sits
and startled he looks up at me.
"You're deep in thought",
he says.

Sahn 12/29/14

she is gone
like the waves are to the sand
she was there and
then she's not.
she is gone.
like a hand is to the shake
like the Eve is to the snake
like the sun is to the morn
she is gone.
She has gone.
like the path is to the lost.
like the trees are to the roots.
like the skin is to the snake
she is gone.
she is gone.
like the kiss is to the cheek.
like the strength is to the weak.
she is gone.
and still, and still he waits
like the river rock he shakes
but no movement will he make
she is gone.
he will bide his time like lakes
she will roll like tides
and take
what is hers and what he left
she is gone.
and still he waits
and still he waits.
and time will edge and clip
and she will
dodge and she will duck
she will shine and she will grab
and
still he waits.
still he waits.


sahn12/17/2014

By: Tony L. Jefferson, Jr.
I never felt it was fair to perceive her as just a woman

Just a being that existed beside me

She was natural, with a big afro that weather couldn’t blow

The way she walked, a silky sashay through the room commanding attention

She was like smooth jazz played at an expensive dinner

I longed to meet her

But yet

I was too caught up in mental fantasies

Scared to finally face reality and ask her for a simple dance

She was perfect in every way

I pictured her moving in tune with me moving to our favorite tune

Flowing like natural waterfalls as we fall into an intimate embrace

What a woman I would say

What a lady on this day

I finally got the nerve to approach her

My dreams were being realized before mine own eyes

When fantasy would finally meet reality

Just as I went in to present my case

She turns to me

Dreamy eyes, dreamy eyes

Sweet lips accented in mahogany lip stick

My lady, I would like to partake in a sweet embrace

I would like to move in a sensuous mood

We danced for an eternity it seemed

But alas, our song ended

And as I moved in for a kiss

She disappeared into a fine, sweet mist

Perfection is only perceived in the mind



But with time we shall develop as one and your flaws become perfection to me

I don't live in
a black and white world,
but there are days in which
my pallette is ******* up.

Love and passion
are no longer red,
but hues of grey
fill my soul.

Blues are no longer
beautiful,
but are muted versions
of angry self-loathing.

Nature is not reflected
in pastels,
but my mirror is broken,
for no light exists
in the shadow it creates.

If I truly cared to believe
that the grass is greener,
I could learn to look past
all the melancholic colors.