Jordan 13m
searching for the street in the site
looking for that g shit
them back woods on the 3rd rail
chucks and black dickies
shaved head and tribal Tatts
rottweilers and pitbulls
no muzzles of course
back yard wrestling
matches on dirty matresses
hustling just for food on the table
a project from the projects
don't wowy
can you feel the nerves radiating from each and every one,
packed boxes overflowing with raw emotions,
parents each carry a piece of your new home,
each hug allows a moment of vulnerability,
some will cry when its time to leave,
climb the stairs to your new home,
wave goodbye to the old routine,
and greet the new.
Oh lustrous new moon
how you cradle the old


Aphrodite humming a soft tune
cradling Adonis whom grows so cold
A baby shuts his eyes and sees
bull continents drift,
collide, startle, spin around.

Old World bucks suddenly accuse-
(Did YOU just back into ME?)
They jam head-to-head,
gouge, reconcile, then confer.

This he likes!

They get down to business.
They iron out earth's future
with special bellows.

Above this caucus
of nodding, naying heads,
their clacking antlers mesh
into a bourgeoning thicket.

He calls for more!

The thicket shudders,
sprouts into a dagger forest.

It shoots up recklessly,
like a baby's legs,
to jab the sky
with young ideas:

New species, struggles, lies.
Whole societies in the air,
too busy to explain
the bellowing below.

    The weight of so much life is too much.

There is a final SNAP
of Old World backs.

Not a grain remains on which to carve
the memory of all the things
that passed before this baby's eyes.
A friend called it a Darwinian myth. Highest hurdle was anthropomorphizing continents.
M 22h
a world so crumpled in the folds
of black and white exhibit
no color, no individuality
or hopefulness.

  a world of conditions,
agreements, and contracts
dwindled the creative senses
of the budding youth and
the creativity of the
newly implied, fruitful minds,
but the youth never entirely failed.

   when pushed down into the
heaps of ranks amd despair, a
dew hopefuls remained.

  youth used the broken bits of
crayons, of whole pieces and
shavings to apply to the crumpled
corners of the world,
starting off with a few swipes of color
among the horizon
and the skyscrapers of the world.

  the once black and white world
began to blossom in shades of
violets and yellows, bleeding
down the white pages, smearing
among that of shades of
blues and greens,
creating a world that was once
referred by legends or stories
as being a
a world full of color,
a world so fruitful in love
and perseverance, and
it ended up being strong
enough again to become reborn
once more from the hands of the
M 22h
The room we shared our
first laughs in, our first hugs,
our first touches, our first kisses.

   Wasn't it precious?
grounded in reality but
fulfilled through fantasy.

   the shallow breaths we both shared,
the way our bodies pressed together,
discovering one another
and learning the bounds of
our movements,
the curves of our hips and
tides of our love,
the way our bodies responded
to our words, our lips, our tongues.

  the bedroom is where we gave
ourselves to one another, the
place where we could share
that of our deepest secrets and desires,
the place where I felt safe with you.

don't you remember that?
you must, if not, maybe it
was im fact memories grounded
in fantasy instead of
memories grounded in reality.
if you learn one thing today, learn this:
you are not who they’ve made you,
nor the mistakes you’ve made —
you are exactly what you make yourself,
and it is never too late to begin again.

floriculturist Jun 2017
don't you dare put me back on that bookshelf because you've decided that you may not want me now, but you just might pick me out again someday. i am vintage, something you should press lovingly to your lips. but to me that dream seems to be ephemeral at best. yes, my words are old and my pages tea-stained, but doesn't that make me beautiful? yes, my edges are worn and torn and frayed, but doesn't that mean to treat me with delicacy? and yes, darling, i am falling apart at the seams, but doesn't that mean you should be there to take care of me? and not just throw me aside and break me at my spine just because you think i'm useless. no matter how many times i'd think to waste my words on you, someone else will gladly be able to discover them somewhere, someday. i will captivate his eyes with each page, each letter, each jumbled together in haste to make art in black and white. and yes, someone will cherish me and hold me near and dear. and if that someone isn't be you, please give me away to someone who will.

It is quiet, finally.
The spiders they tell me,
That dreams are funny things-
Heavy like stones. Disappearing.

At night, it rains.
Water is on the inside,
It fills me.

It permeates the skin,
Past leveed lungs,
My mouth-a damned dam.

The tips are bursting.
It all overpours.
Like stars thick with oil,
Like visions in a well.

Immersed- you can float here.
It's like a nameless place.
It's like falling into rivers.
New books.
New schedule.
New locker.

Old friends.
Old parking spot.
Old school.

Upper class men years are starting.
Everything seems so real.
It’s 8:27pm in South Carolina.

Let’s go.

                            With love,
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