I can't hear the cars,
but I can see them;
the rush of tiny sun-reflections moving south, towards the suburbs.

I can't hear the footsteps,
old men in hand with little boys--
each crunching the crunchiest leaf,
and then the next crunchiest,
and then the next--

The postman;
the couch;
the Sunday afternoon.

324 square miles

and 94 vacant

we build up our city to great lengths

but the majority of our population

poor, impoverished black families

cannot afford to eat at a tapas bar art gallery

Some of us let the summer month’s gets to your head
As we feel the heat we become one with nature
Naked, green and unapologetic,
a kind of trend which most people follow,
and hard for the some of us to swallow

Like all other things the summer heat can
Make the darkest man visible, the sleaziest worm
Crawl to the surface, for a dark tan
But it surely cans nectar the honey for  the Gods
Fall is upon us, as our joints began to ache,

Halloween is a drawing near,
Am I the only one whose seem to care?
The fly flies settle down under the broad leaves
And here I am the green poet from New York is visiting Tennessee

Those Hot summer bikini bodies, is now as cold as Niagara Falls  
We fret as we began to throw down, the last of the summer days
Creeping backs into our jean and Woolly Love Heart Jumper:

Suddenly, here come the hurricane months, September,
October and November all with they uncertainties
  
As I kept expressing my feeling into poetry,
With my frequent minds pop no matter how strange
Embrace them I probably will do the same.

5/23/17

she taught me of new beginnings
and the healing of january
that you don't have to be profound
all the time
you don't have to be observed
you can change the storyline
but still remember that time

together we drank in nashville
to the days of virginia
swearing to return to art
when we got there
our lives were in full circle
she still believed in me
she is the closest thing
to an older sister i know
and maybe i am strong enough to say
that i don't love the person
that she let go of too

I've been cursed by a witch,
blessed by a pope,
traveled the seven seas,
cheated death thrice,
angel-saved twice,
and now reside in Tennessee.

friday morning,
we wake up hungover
from last night's binge drinking,
because even though we love our jobs,
no one really wants to work for their entire lives,
when so many things are unanswered,
perverted, and misconstrued.  
hashtag all of those millennial catchphrases,
to garner hearts from your friends
who you haven't seen in years,
friends who work in San Fran,
Chicago, Greenwich Village.
crank up your laptop speakers,
as Neon Indian's Polish Girl
plays that **** synth,
and take a drag from a P-Funk,
before your Grandma hits your
shoulder with the newspaper daily—
right after she speaks in Vietnamese,
asking you what is your name,
because she has Alzheimer’s.
but in these social media days,
isn't everything that is worth mentioning to your sister,
everything that is worth fighting for,
everything that is ****** in this world,
on the internet (maybe, just Twitter tbh).
screenshot the cat meme you like,
save it,
share it,
move on.
if only she wasn't allergic to cats,
maybe it could have worked out.
that was 7 years ago.
—*** ova it. Then, mix your red bull with your coffee,
because the next 10 hours of your life,
will be revolving around caring about people
other than your ungrateful and ingratiating ***.
don't cry,
when I say good-bye.
stay for a while, under the shade of the rooftop
where the deejay spins Frank Ocean
and Frank Sinatra records,
as everyone is drinking scotch, or Yuengling,
and ashing over the veranda bansister,
; the bad boys try to open their souls
to the good girls. and the bad girls,
reveal too much to the good boys.
we devoured those drugs, as though
they were jelly beans from a convenience store,
and then we broke into the store
and ate some more.
break the coals on top of the hookah,
puff, puff, pass—
inhale, exhale,
fit the deformed piece
back into the Dinosaur puzzle,
and crawl back into bed,
pull the covers over
your trembling body,
shut your eyes,
and reflect,
for the day is heavy with regret
and unsaid things.

A girl with flowing, brown locks
opens the novella of her world to you,
as you both lay on her bed, facing each other,
her elbows and your elbows touching,
her hands tucked beneath her cheek,
your hands tucked beneath your cheek,
as though she and you are about to
lick each other’s souls,
nibble each other’s hearts,
and fornicate each other’s minds.
Your eyes are targets.
Her eyes are targets.
This is the South and you both open carry.
She inserts the mag. You insert the mag.
She ***** the piece. You **** the piece.
She aims. You aim.
You look at her targets
You then see her face.
Green-eyed Hepburn
You close your eyes.
She’s your confidante,
your neighbor, your best friend.
You open your eyes.
Your hand shakes, your fingers sweat.
She itches the trigger.
You put the gun down.

i have climbed endless mountains
all the while wanting you to show me
someone else would be willing to do
the same for me. foolish me for still clinging onto the thought of us. one day i hope you don't distance yourself so much and wake up and accept the love i know you deserve.
i no longer care to give you the love you deserve because you seem to have given up on me. foolish you for waiting for me at the other side of the mountain because traveling uphill i learned going back to your arms would be way more of a downhill battle than I could ever handle.

Fed by waterfalls
fast and muddy from the rain
Calfkiller River

First day, a new job,
driving to Chattanooga -
new chapter begins.