My cat WOKE:
Petra Electra Perpetua.

I’m telling y’all, she massive woke;
lit, like wicked wick holy smoke.

She outsmart Christopher ******* dreamin’
teach a dog where a BONE at,
discern every demon,
(not to mention advanced forensics.)

She rise, she yawn, she stretch, she flex
then start cashin’ every other pet paychecks.

She charge per minute just to LOOK at her fur
while she sharpen her nails. My Petra purr . . .

Dogs be all: WOOF
She don’t even answer.
Scribe rhymed Arabic lyrics
while she beat a belly dancer
with her TAIL, pfffffft. . .

My girl don’t tag, she SPRAY.
Mark every wall, y’all . . .
Seen all over the hood, gnome sain?

Offer her Sheba, she like:
Won’t touch it. Give me that Meow Mix.

My girl teach Afrikan lioness about *****;
*** on a paean, droppin’ lyrics like mice
other feline get fussy
my kitty get NICE.

TikTok your Instagram feed
right into her bowl.

My girl so woke,
save her own fanged soul.

Slip out the house—she gone.
Workin’ secret route to EGYPT.
Roast every priestess in Bastet city;

My kitty taught CLEOPATRA (u feel me?)
about *****.

She scratch Catwoman, pounce on Robin
Batman wet his weak-*** mask, sobbin’.

My girl woke;
so woke she don’t nap, she sleep—

profoundly. Soundly. DEEP.

pre-Genesis,
she adumbrates in artifice
as you orate, then hesitate
before the portal of unnamed being
reconnoitering.

You gather your forces
to exploit her resources
aroma of Soma:
illimitable subliminal bliss
limned in liquescent lucidity. . .

Tantric hat-trick:
pull a white dove out of the universal yoni
when her lingam penetrates your third eye
your chakras align and you hit her cosmic jackpot:
all sevens in unknown Proto-Indo-European tongues.

The apsaras invite all the devis over
for Christmas in Jerusalem
Pangea cracks, spreads apart in differentiation;
incontinent continents drift
then recombine
in individuation . . .

Your anima gets an enema
as the Beast melts down
and the heavens descend.

Then clean it all up
and look for a beer in the cosmic fridge.

Sociopath usurpers rise to the top
Floating above mere human resources:
Doubtful cream of a churned and churning crop
Soulless spawn of data-driven forces.

I long to see them finally confounded;
I’ll laugh as they leap from towering losses
Their assets seized, liquefied, impounded . . .
May God repay our sociopath bosses!

Eternal salvation’s a gift

From a righteous young maid in a shift

Who had never been laid;

By God’s Spirit: hand-made

was her baby, our burdens to lift.

§§§

You speak eloquently

calmly, liltingly,

With West Indian precision.

Your island inflection

Is so lovely. Talk to me

About anything . . .

I could listen all day.

Let us resume the conversation

In Heaven.

Unto eternity . . .

Where we shall be perfected.

I can’t forget your voice.

I came to hate the cold
When I noticed that I couldn't get a hold
Of my freezing hands when they were naked and bold
In an air-conditioned bus, as one of my friends told

And I would always seek out the heat
Of his palms on my fingers when they meet
At least they keep these delicate limbs, so petite
From numbing when the chill kiss them oh so sweet

I also came to like the warmness
Of people when they hug me in genuine love and kindness
And I would keep seeking that kind of fondness
As frost surrounds me with little to no softness

Oh, how I remember the warmth of cuddling
During wet and shivery downpour in the evening
Hugging and fondling under the thick, weighted bedding
How comfortable, unlike sleep to the freezing

But then, maybe the coldness I feel
From my hand to my feet's heel
Is a reflection of the atrociousness I conceal
Just to go with this ludicrous ordeal

My soul is just too bitter, just like how I hate
The unfortunate temperature of my fate
Yet fervor is the wish of this vicious slate
Before the chessboard declares its losing checkmate

Unfortunately, things must come to an end
There's no point to try to make this encounter bend
Because it will all just be like play-pretend
Of not acknowledging the conclusion of this descend

I came to hate the cold
And when judgment day comes, with my sins uncontrolled
I'd rather burn in the pits of hell in tenfold
Than to freeze in Dante's 9th circle's stranglehold.